"A punk composer".
She didn't know what that definition could truly mean yet, or what that implied exactly.
All she felt was that she just had to swipe the ashes of a sorrowful past away and follow her own path, no matter what the others'd have to say about it.
She needed to break the chains and finally grow her own wings towards freedom - musical freedom: her own realisation.
Just like every band she'd been in contact with had: spread their wings and begun to fly high.
ELP, the Clash, Buzzcocks: all had faced, or were still facing, a journey amidst what seemed to be the brightest sky, which yet hid clouds of problems, responsabilities, distress and aversities; she'd had the possibility to witness those "other" sides of fame, especially by staying around Buzzcocks, which now seemed to've lost any initial sparkle of constistency about the punk spirit they'd started their journey with.
Devoured by money, drugs and pride, they'd dared fly too high, so high to be blinded by sunrays of an alleged colossal fame which they aimed to achieve in complete arrogance.
But was that how every flight would end up?
She thought about the Clash: four humble, yet fierce men who'd never had the pretense to reach for the sun. Perhaps, they were the only not to realise what a high altitude they'd reached in their musical journey. Or maybe, they had, but their humble nature didn't have them mind about that. So long as they could still see what happened on earth, they were fine: but to four people like them, losing that contact with the common world, those who had their feet on the ground, would be fatal. They relied on that contact to make their music, to just go on as a band, to find a purpose to play.
And so she was not intended to end up like the Buzzcocks: she wanted to keep her eyes open, never lose focus on the real world, the same one she'd thought to be part of until then... but that she was starting to truly perceive only now.
A world made of people carrying any kind of struggles: she'd last seen that when Joe invited her over his house and opened up about his past, showing his most vulnerable side.
Ever since that meeting, Eleanor started to trace the lines of that "real world" all over again. And this time, she indeed wanted to be part of it, remaining herself in spite of the environment she'd decided to enter.
The CBS was an even bigger industry than the United Artists, which the Buzzcocks belonged to, but she promised herself that music would be her only concern: at the end of the day, she'd had proof that music itself was the one and only thing able to heal her wounds. No drugs or lovers could. Just music... and what music requires simply is: authenticity.
The same quality that her friends Clash surely had.
The meeting with Henry was one more thing that'd contributed to her renewed hopes and motivation: a friend from the past, ready to support her in her new journey, even professionally, for he'd just become her manager. Indeed, as of then, she needed one of her own.
In spite of the collaboration, it was unavoidable for her and the Clash to be on two separated levels: the male band played other music, therefore the audience would be different too.
She didn't know what kind of audience she'd conquer yet, though music would make its way, and so would people who'd eventually come to be interested in her songs... or symphonies. She didn't know how far she would go, how much of her skill she'd put into practice; however, what counted was that she'd just be herself in everything she'd do from then on.
She'd lately matured the need to push herself to her limits, no matter what could come out from her creativity.
In fact, she'd eventually dusted her old prog records, listening to them religiously, as if it was some ritual. ELP, King Crimson, Atomic Rooster, Colosseum, Yes, Genesis had become her daily soundtrack once again, after years and years, despite prog was reckoned to be dead.
Just like the punk movement was dead too, at that point.
So many things were changing around her... just like she'd changed aswell, shaped by the continuous ups and downs life'd put in front of and throughout her growth.
Punk may'd shaped her as a person, but her soul had always been truly nourished by that heavenly music which once used to play loud anywhere and that though now could only be listened on some private record player. People seemed to've had forgotten about all those accomplished musicians.
But she surely hadn't, and so the "mourning" given by the alleged death of that genre had never stopped distressing her. She needed to keep that legacy alive. Somehow.
Just like she'd done by re-adapting the song Knife Edge by ELP for a younger audience, manteining the same complex structure whilst changing the sonorities for a more average ear.
But once again: music'd make its way around that dilemma. She would just let the flow carry her.
A flow which could only be nourished by positive vibrations, and now that most of the toxicity she used to have around was gone, she felt finally ready to take some new music out of the blank scores.
Along with her own musical identity, she was starting to gain self confidence again. It was no easy thing after the way her heart'd been mistreated by two people she presumed to love deeply, and moreover, after the legal quarrel and the break up of the band that'd helped her to be launched on the market for the first time... But somehow, music was, once again, pushing her through those waters.
For the moment, her first LP - recorded with Glen at the Wessex's and that was due to be issued under the Leapers' name - was finally launched at the beginning of december, shortly before the Clash came out with their third studio album, a double they'd named London Calling. The omonym song opened the LP, alluding to a dystopic premonition of what was to come, for the gates of 80s were now just one foot ahead... and that creepy sensation was felt all around.
However, in spite of a general thrill for her first achievement as "professional musician", Eleanor'd not let that sparkle overwhelm her: she perfectly knew what was her next move and where - who the money she'd just earnt was due to be sent to.
"Where're you going with that check in your bag?" Mick chuckled, casting her a confused glance.
"Not your business" she sighed, seemingly annoyed.
"Please don't be like those rockstars that spend everything they earn..." Topper laughed.
"You should shut up, we all know where your money goes, Nick" Paul huffed, shaking his head before stepping to Eleanor in wary steps "I guess... this is for..."
She turnt around to look at him straight in the face, her eyes revealing a hint of frustration
"Yes. The four mancunian bastards"
"Cheers... now, this indeed is a waste of money" Mick scoffed.
"What else can I do, Mick? They sued me, and Glen too..." she protested in sorrow.
"Yeah yeah I know, just... don't go alone, though. Where's Mat?"
"He greeted me a while ago, we met just to get this fucking piece of paper done" she replied impatiently, shaking the check in her hand.
"I don't even want to know how much money that is..." Joe laughed.
"Too much" Eleanor grunted.
"They don't even need that money, please... even considering that now they're even about to split up" Paul rolled his eyes, moving the toothpick in his mouth.
That statement took the girl aback.
"Are they?" she gasped, rising her eyebrows.
"Are you even sad about it? It was about time, they clearly had no more will to play, even in the USA they felt entirely emotionless... and in addiction, as far as I've read, they've been touring with this new band, Joy Division and apparently, the noobies overshadowed the main band..." Joe snickered, elbowing Mick.
"Yeah and considering they're now filled in drugs from their tiptoes up to their head" Paul added.
"Guess it's Steve and Pete you're talking about, Paul" Eleanor nodded.
"Nah, all of them actually"
"Oh, I see Sir Maher took it easier after I left, eh" the girl growled, holding her first tight.
"After you left? When they weren't selfish pricks yet, I recall snorting with the lot of them, yeah even with your toy-boy..."
"EX toy-boy, Mick, let's be clear..." Paul laughed.
"At that age... he must've snorted sugar, come on now, Mick!" Topper commented.
"I swear!" the guitarist replicated.
"Stop it you all! Ah, he's more hypocrit than I already believed..." Eleanor grunted, shutting her jaw in fury, not being able to stand the fact she'd been scolded by her ex for doing something he must had likely done way more times than her.
"Anyhow, the thing is: they suck" Joe huffed, lighting a cigarette in nonchalance, before turning around to look at Eleanor "But I have one question... are you intended to go to Manchester? Meet them again?"
Before she could reply, a sound of footsteps arised in the room of the CBS studios, where the lot of them were to fix a small issue regarding the back of the prints of London Calling; in fact, at the very last, Mick'd added one last song to the album which hadn't been initially added on the back of the cover, among the other titles: Train in Vain.
"Indeed she is, or better, we are" Henry suddenly replied, walking up to Eleanor and wrapping his arm around her shoulders.
The four boys frowned.
"Yeah, well, it's not just for the matter with the Buzzcocks... there's one more Mancunian lad I'd like to introduce to Eleanor" the auburn-haired man chuckled.
"Why do you come up with this only now?" the girl flinched, looking at him with a petrified face.
"There'd be no thrill otherwise!" he replicated, patting her head.
"Hope he's not a jackass like those other four" Joe sighed, dropping the ashes into the ashtray in front of him.
"Oh, not at all! Do you think I'd waste her talent for some spoilt dumbfuck?" Henry heated up.
"Relax, it was just to say... anyway, make sure to punch Steve and John in the bake once you see them, tell them it's from the dear Joe..."
"Oh, be sure I won't even touch them with one single finger" the girl grimaced, looking away.
"Yeah, in fact... but don't worry, I've had to do with boybands like theirs before, they act all tough until they have to face some old motherfucker like myself" Henry laughed, making his first steps out of the room, carrying Eleanor with him and leaving the four Clash with numb expressions on their faces.
"One more Mancunian lad, eh?" Eleanor sighed, as soon as she took place in the cabin of the train, on her way to Manchester. Her eyes were scanning Henry suspiciously, for she couldn't just figure out what her new manager had set aside for her. She hoped for the best, especially considering that the first matter to solve in Manchester involved four guys she'd hoped not to have to do with any longer; at last, that frustrating situation seemed to be about to end once for all. Once again, one piece of paper could change things; that check would possibly close one troublesome chapter of her life, allow her to start all over again as a solo artist and… with no anxieties and further responsabilities, beyond her own and those that the CBS put upon her shoulders.
Henry simply chuckled in reply, shaking his head and looking out of the window of the train.
"Who knows…"
"Come on Henry, don't keep me on the edge like this, Mancunian people've only given me problems up to now" the girl sighed in disappointment, annoyed by that grin on the man's face.
"Please Ellie, you've only been around four mancunians, not forty thousands! And besides, do you really think I'd have you meet someone if I knew they're a total jackass?" he protested.
"Yeah well, I'll see… but as of now, what matters most is putting an end to this legal quarrel with those…buckeejits… the simple thought of meeting even one of them drives me homicidial, I swear…" she grunted nervously, disturbed by her own frustration.
Henry simply chuckled and patted her thigh in confidence, giving her a reassuring look.
"I'm with you, now. Will let none of them be too rude at you, not even Rick Boon, that twat of their manager…"
"Do you know him?" she frowned.
"Not really, but the far I've heard from our phone call, a few days ago... well, he doesn't sound like the friendliest being"
"Hah, maybe that's who those four assholes took that self righteous attitude from..." Eleanor scoffed, shaking her head in disgust.
"Probably" he laughed "However... Don't let them affect your mental health any longer, Ellie. I mean, you see where they're now…"
"Yeah, on the edge of the world, according to all the luxury they're surrounded by at the moment…"
"A-at the edge of wha? Where do you live, El! They've been outclassed by Joy Division at every gig they gave, even your friend from the Clash told you so! Do you know about their last singles they published?"
"W-when did they publish them?! I had no clue" the girl exclaimed in surprise.
"In fact!" Henry remarked "They've not even hit the top 50 chart, they're sinking down, Ellie! This is your time to take their place and show them how a true musician works! Because I know it, Eleanor, you can achieve great things, this is why I insisted to become your personal manager, Kosmo couldn't do enough, considering that he already looks after the Clash. So I'm telling you, go there and keep your head up. They'll possibly try to demotivate you, but that's all blind rage; the best way to react to their fire is indifference and self confidence, believe me"
Eleanor remained silent for a moment; those words from Henry had struck her in the deep, awakening one more sparkle of hope and strentgh she thought to have lost after all the negative happenings of September 1979.
Now it was mid december; time to overcome those traumas, heal the woulds… and of course, the upcoming arrival of a brand new decade seemed to be the perfect occasion to start a new, blank page of her life… all yet to be written.
Henry was right: what would hatred solve? Certainly, it'd not help her to leave all of her negative experiences behind her back once for all. Seeing the four Buzzcocks again… that certainly was hard to bear, but on the other hand, it could also be seen as a symbolic start of a new era for her.
Atleast, she hoped so.
Without letting any more words of venting, the girl simply nodded at her manager's statement and forced a Comprehensive smile that aswell reassured Henry, letting him exchange it back.
Once arrived, the two didn't hesitate one bit before catching a taxi and heading to the Headquarters of the New Hormones label.
Henry'd phoned Richard Boon, Buzzcocks' manager, a few days earlier to arrange the meeting. It was such a relief for Eleanor not to have to face that matter alone anymore; she once had Glen on her side, but considering how their partnership'd died after the Leapers' break-up, Henry'd kindly volunteered to take care about the entire situation by his own hand.
Eleanor's heart raced at each step closer she moved to that same building where, a few months before, she'd met a young guitarist called John Maher, but also fought the four Buzzcocks and their manager with her former bandmate. Many things'd changed up to then, yet, that grudge that ran between her and the four mancunian boys was still there. Nevertheless, she had promised herself that she'd try to listen to Henry's words, because in spite of the money they'd be given, the Buzzcocks' future didn't feel any promising… and what's money useful for, if no projects are involved? Atleast, she was at the beginnign of her true career apparently, and in that case, things could only improve for her.
At the end of the day she realised that she had nothing to lose from that meeting: the Buzzcocks had, though.
"Don't let any other artists help you with things like these ever again, Ellie…" Henry sighed as he made his last steps before walking into the gray, dull building of the label that now seemed to be on its way to become as forgotten and neglected as its structure.
"Be sure I won't, I learnt the lesson…"
"That's good… and that counts with the Clash too"
The girl gasped at that sudden statement: her manager seemed to've become serious all of a sudden. Perhaps it was that tension rising as minutes past by to make him take awareness of the actual causes of that situation - to worry him.
"W-wait, why'd you bring them up now?" she frowned in a mix of surprise and delusion.
"Because you've been spending way too much time in the studio with them, which'd be ok… if they weren't super rockstars, and you weren't at the beginning of your career… beware, Eleanor, you've seen it yourself, being exploited by famous artists is way more common than it seems…" he sighed, running a hand in his copper brown, wavy hair which'd gotten wet due to the haze of that early-winter day.
"N-no Henry! The Clash - Paul are fr…" but she couldn't finish her sentence of protest, for the sound of Boon's footsteps had the both of them turn around.
"Early birds, I see…" Boon greeted, exchanging a fake smile at Henry as he approached to him.
"Technically, it's three in the afternoon" Eleanor specified, rolling her eyes at the mere sight of the same man who'd treated her and Glen like idiots.
"C'mon gal, you know what I meant to say" Rick scoffed, almost in mockery.
"Well, I think this situation's been going on for too long, Rick, hasn't it? The earlier we solve this, the better" Henry intervened, quite impatiently,
"It's not like one or two hours'd make much of a difference as of now…" the other manager sighed, taking out a box of cigarettes.
"Yeah, easy to say that from your perspective, right, it wasn't you to be sued and forced to work your arse off to..." Eleanor growled, but Henry elbowed before she could let her tongue too loose.
"Remember what I told you before, Ellie, c'mon cut the bullshit and don't snap" the copper-haired whispered strictly.
The girl recomposed a bit to simply glare at Boon as he offered them a cigarette.
"I don't accept anything from you anymore, not even a cigarette" she scoffed, looking away.
"She must be a true row to hoe…" the man commented, looking straight into Henry's eyes in fake amusement.
"Stay in your lane, Richard! Your guys don't seem to be doing the best at the moment, do they, eh?"
Boon took a deep breathe and his randy expression turnt into a slight glare.
"When are… those four coming? I'm tired of waiting already" Eleanor grumbled, cutting that icy atmosphere.
"W-what? It's just me" their manager snapped in surprise.
"You've got to be kidding me..." the girl scoffed, her eyes revealing all of her outrage.
"Indeed not, unlike you, they're pretty busy as of now…"
"Ah is that so? Busy, you say? Doing drugs in their five starred hotels? Don't get smart with me, Richard" she protested, pointing her finger at him.
"This is none of your business, also… I was there in America, I know what you did, too, Eleanor, so don't try get in my lane now…"
His words made Eleanor freeze. Right there, she immediately feared the Buzzcocks' manager could mention her previous use of cocaine… in front of Henry. True, Henry'd not been the cleanest person back in his youth, However, times'd changed in those ten past years, people had taken more awareness about the dangers of drugs and, in addiction, she didn't want Henry to worry; he had a very fatherly instinct and Eleanor had no doubt he'd feel concerned. After all, she remembered those times he happened to scold Steven whenever he offered Eleanor acids or opium, back when she was only thirteen…
"Fair!" the girl snapped, walking back on her steps, overwhelmed by frustration.
"What difference does it make? Just give me the check and this drama'll be over forever" Richard snorted, getting impatient.
"Perhaps… it's a matter of decency…" Henry intervened.
"It's a bloody legal matter, not a wedding" the other manager talked back.
"Yeah but… I dragged my ass here, in person!" Eleanor cried "... and those motherfuckers didn't even bother to…"
"The least you could do, considering that those motherfuckers dragged your arse around the States by their own decision! You'd not even be where you're now, if it wasn't for them! You've been truly noticed around after your performances in USA, where you rather decided to go for a romantic escape with those other four cockney Rolling Stones of punk!" Boon replicated.
"Ok I've had enough, stop it, you two" Henry intervened once again, grabbing Eleanor's arm and pulling her behind him. He immediately ripped the check from the girl's hands and literally casted it to the other man's hands.
"Here's your money. Have fun with it. Now, all this shitmess is over, and so shall your pathetic argument"
Boon opened the envelope to check whether Eleanor'd deceived him, but as soon as he verified by himself, a subtle smirk appeared on his face.
"Good, good…" he snickered in pride, feeling like the winner of some war that'd been going on for too long.
"Perfect. Let's go now, Eleanor, this meeting was not the actual reason why I wanted to come to Manchester in person" Henry grumbled, making his first steps to the exit of the structure and gesturing at her to follow him.
"Wait!" Richard exclaimed all of a sudden.
"What now!?" Eleanor snapped, turning back in rage "The money I gave you is all what you asked, arrears included!"
"Oh I saw, I just forgot that I was given this letter by the guys and…"
"Are you kidding me?!" she gasped in shock. She felt petrified for one second in an undeniable mix of grudge, surprise, distress and… nostalgia. Nostalgia which she wasn't supposed to feel, but how couldn't she? Those four Mancunians'd been her main company, her family for over one year of her life and - somehow - an anchor of safety in the middle of all the troubles she faced at the beginning of her career. she hated to admit it, but Boon was right there: if she was hired by CBS, it was partly and remotely thanks to the Buzzcocks too.
However, the girl couldn't help feel a tip of doubtfulness, too.
"A death threathen, by chance?" she rised her eyebrow.
The boys' manager shrugged "I have no clue. To be fair, it's not even a group thing, it was just one of them to hand it to me"
"It better isn't John; I swear…" she scoffed, shaking her head.
"Not my business. Okay, whatever, now you can go. This matter's over once for all, at last."
"Yeah, if you let us move away from here, atleast" Henry added in sarcasm.
"Yes yes, I'm done, I just didn't want to forget about giving you the letter, or else he will kill me..."
"H-he?!" Eleanor gasped once again, but her manager's arm dragged her out before the other man could even reply.
Now, a hoard of thoughts invaded her mind as she held and looked at that ominous paper.
"You'll read it later, don't get paranoid over it…" the auburn haired man sighed, as they stood at a bus stop along the street.
"Easy to say, you can't imagine how nervous I feel… hey, do you reckon I should burn it?"
"Maybe" he cut short, casting a glance at the street, waiting for the bus to come.
"Where're you taking me now?" the girl continued, trying to sound not as anxious as she was actually feeling.
"Again... it's a surprise..." the man snorted impatiently.
Eleanor shook his head without replying... seemingly still dwelling over that letter.
It was just a bunch of stops and when the two finally jumped off the vehicle, Eleanor couldn't help but notice that the avenue counted just... a series of houses. It was a residential district, no doubt, however the gray and dull mancunian atmosphere added a certain decay to it.
"So this is how I'll die, fine..." Eleanor sighed in dark humour.
"What? Shut up, I'm not going to kill you!" Henry chuckled, pushing her forward on their way to what seemed to be just a random house of red bricks.
Henry took his coat off and rang the bell.
Eleanor felt terribly confused, but also thrilled at the same time, she couldn't deny it. That tip of unawareness added a certain curiosity.
She looked around in attempt to hide that slight embarassment caused by the entire situation. She really had no clue what Henry had in mind, but surely enough it regarded her music career... atleast, she hoped.
That moment of odd silence was interrupted by the sound of the door being unlocked and opened.
There, on top of the wooden stairs that led inside the house, a tall, slim, short haired brunette man appeared in front of them. He looked quite mature, but still youthful, somehow. The first wrinkles on his bony face were compensated by shimmering and lively eyes.
However, he looked quite familiar to Eleanor. She just couldn't figure out where he might've had seen him before.
"Henry! It was about time!" the mysterious man laughed, patting the copper-haired lad's shoulder in a friendly grin.
"Yes Peter, we were caught up in some... affair, right before arriving here. Not going to explain, that wasn't the true purpose of our visit to Manchester anyways"
"I see, don't worry... well, you're just in time for tea!" the brunette smiled, leading Henry in... not before casting a glance at Eleanor, who was still standing there at the entrance, clueless about what to say if not a timid and polite greeting.
"Oh, and here she is... the girl you talked to me about..." He continued, stepping aside to let her in.
"Eleanor o' Connor" the girl introduced herself, before making her first steps inside.
"Yeah, yeah, Henry told me about you... but I've also seen you play myself. It's nice to finally see you in person!" he exclaimed in thrill, as she took her coat off.
"So... Your name is Peter?" she asked, frowning at him.
"Oh, right! Forgot to introduce myself, though I hoped you'd recognize me, considering your music taste, unless Henry told me a loads of lies, whatsoever... My name's Peter Hammill"
Eleanor immediately felt a grip by her stomach.
Peter Hammill.
The singer of Van der Graaf Generator, a band she used to be a fan of in her teens. She'd also seen them live a few times back in the days. That is why Peter's face looked familiar... he'd cut his hair and changed his looks, but those sparkles in his eyes were the same that shone in 1971, in those photos of the band which she came across in music journals.
That surprise meeting with him felt like a blessing after the troublesome encounter with Richard Boon.
It cheered her up and for a while, all her worries regarding that letter faded away.
The girl remained frozen there, exchanging glances first at Henry, then at one of her teen-selthe person next to her music heroes.
"Are you going to grow roots in there or will you take
a seat?" Henry chuckled, gesturing her to come forward.
"You didn't tell me I'd meet one of my all-time favourite musicians! I'd have worn something more decent than... this!" she exclaimed, snapping her worn out blue jeans.
"Don't be silly and come here! We're talking about music, not a fashion parade!"
She eventually did as he said and Peter immediately served her biscuits and tea.
In spite of the mixed emotions she felt inside, the atmosphere felt tranquill and reassuring all around. It was just a normal house, in a normal avenue of a normal city... but he wasn't as normal and she couldn't tell herself to remain entirely calm and cold.
But was that even a matter? The former Van der Graaf's singer looked rather pleased by that thrill in her eyes.
"So... Eleanor, or to better say... Keitha" Peter began, scanning her in a smile from afar.
"Oh, no no, not that nickname, I'm not even one third as worth as Emerson..." she blushed in a forced smile.
"We're not quite saying you're the same person, in fact, though I bet Emerson himself'd be pleased to see a young... punk playing the keys as you do"
"I hope so... but, do you see me as a punk?" she frowned. She'd not expect to be labeled like that from a prog musician. It wasn't even meant as offense and, considering the bad blood between the two genres, that felt quite weird.
"In fact, Peter, why'd you call her like that?" Henry intervened, as if Peter'd dared drop some bad joke.
The man took a cigarette and showed a relaxed, yet enigmatic face
"You belong to that generation Eleanor, not mine, not Henry's. We're ten years older than you and the struggles, the times you've witnessed can't be the same as ours. Punks... is just a way to call this new generation of kids, to my eyes. Not necessarily connected to the music itself, but music surely helped to unite you lot. And I do admire that"
Eleanor gazed at him; that same charming and mysterious aura he spread on stage was now face to face with her, yet in an intimate atmosphere. He kind of reminded her of Joe; in spite of being totally different as of looks and personality, they both felt incredibly authentic... and most of all: two great thinking minds.
That's what she liked of Peter...
... and that's what she loved about Joe...
... but after all, that, that was punk: transparency.
Peter'd perfectly understood it; and so Joe, unlike many other alleged punk musicians whom'd changed their own beliefs and attitudes for the sake of style and money - and she knew that very well in first person, obviously.
"Listen listen..." she whispered, looking at Henry.
"He's right. There's some things I cannot comprehend of that, Eleanor. It's true, you've been in our company when you were little, but... bloody hell, you were much younger than the rest of us... you're twelve years younger than me, even!" her manager observed in a nod.
"So do you think her punk nature is something that may obstacle your horizons?" Peter asked.
"No clue, I don't care honestly. I mean, the scene seems to be dead anyways"
"Only on the most superficial side. If you refer to the clothes and music and drunken lads in dirty pubs, whatsoever, then I would say you're right, but... the punk I was talking about is more like... a doctrine, you either believe or do not believe in it. Get what I mean? No matter if you go around wearing flower crowns and pink shirts. Punk means belonging to a certain mindset... and Eleanor surely fits in" the singer remarked.
The girl rised her finger and pointed him
"That. Is. Absolutely. Right." she stated in pride, as her heart raced in the hopefulness and genuine joy that Peter's wisdom arised after she had almost lost fate in "punk" , especially after what she'd experienced herself. The Clash seemed to now be the last standing band of the movement; but after Peter's statememt... she may've been too, after all. She just carried on her mindset and did what she believed in. Money and fame came afterwards, it wasn't her concern.
"Fair" Henry sighed "I knew you two'd get along..."
"Anyways, how can you... be so sure that I fit in aswell?" she frowned, caught by doubt.
"Simple. I've seen you play. I've heard your interviews. I've read the reviews about your band, the Leapers, on the Beano and Melody Maker... Your version of Knife's Edge at the John Peel's session... I just know about you and what you've achieved so far, Eleanor and all the passion and dedication you put into it... without neglecting the entertainment side. Just, pure youthfulness..." the brunette man replied confidently.
That reply touched one more string inside her spirit. Hearing that all the passion she put into what she did was perceiveable really motivated her to just face all the aversities she might face.
"The spirit of punk, with the same research and accuracy of a prog musician..." Henry commented.
"Exactly. It's what we Van der Graaf tried to do, alas the generational gap with nowadays' kids was a bit too much and therefore it was impossible for us to convey the message. But you're very, very young Eleanor, you managed to catch teen audiences with the same music they claim to hate. Prog's not dead, and so isn't punk, as long as someone like you keeps on playing music"
"That is... a huge compliment..." the girl stammered, caught by those incredible words of hope and truth.
"...So, after this introduction, I'll go straight to the point now" Peter added, sitting upright on his settee and patting her thigh.
"Wait, is there more...?" she gasped.
"Of course, spoon! Do you think I'd take you here just for some Schopenhauer-kind of talks?" her manager sighed, casting his cigarette in the ashtray.
"It's have been nice anyways!" Peter chuckled "Anyways, the thing is: I'm currently recording a solo album, A Black Box, and I hired a few musicians but... I need a keyboardist..."
Eleanor's eyebrows rised in excitement and surprise.
"W-wait, are you asking me to...?"
"Of course. I love surrounding myself in new talents, and someone like you deserves more recognition... have you released any solo albums so far?"
"No, not really, not yet... Just the one I had to record with my former bandmate, Glen Matlock... it was published a few weeks ago. But I'm starting to work on some pieces, and..."
"Okay, then take this as a warm up, then" Peter smiled "Just... don't waste your ideas for my tracks! Keep the best to yourself"
"So I'll get to help you even in the arrangements part?" she urged, caught by heat.
The man nodded and she couldn't help contain a bright smile. It was like that argument with Boon'd never happened; or that she was never given that letter.
Now, it was just her and the huge offer she'd been given by that one musician she'd always praised. Nothing else mattered, in that moment.
"Thank you, thank you! This is such... a honour, really..." she exclaimed, struggling to contain that thrill.
"The pleasure is mine, Keitha, or better, Eleanor... you's you, after all" Peter smiled, as Henry and Eleanor made their first steps to the door.
"I wish we could stay longer, Peter, but it's getting late, it's winter and... the train trip takes a few hours..." Henry sighed, handing Eleanor her coat.
"I understand, don't worry. It was nice, for the little it lasted... and it was nice to get to know you too, Eleanor. We'll meet again soon, at the studios, hopefully!"
"You can count on me" the girl said in a fierce smirk, while wrapping the scarf around her neck.
On their way back, Henry and Eleanor were too tired to entertain a proper conversation. However, the girl couldn't stop those butterflies in her stomach. She thought of were she was before, and what awaited her now; in one day, she'd managed to close one negative chapter of her life, and start a brand new one, one which boded really well.
All of a sudden, however, she recalled that half-conversation with her manager happened that same day, when he brought up the Clash for some reason, but right there they'd been interrupted by Boon.
"Henry?" she asked, without even lifting her head from the glass of the window.
The man simply looked at her in reply.
"I was wondering... what were you saying about the Clash, today?"
The question seemingly made him a bit uneasy.
"When?"
"Before Boon interrupted us, come on" she urged.
The man took a deep breath and shook his head in a sigh "I don't remember, and anyways, it was nothing important, or I'd have told you already, don't worry"
"Fair" she sighed, as the man immediately picked up a book and sank in the read of it. Yet, she still felt quite doubtful, she didn't really believe that he simply "didn't remember".
The girl remained frozen there, staring at her manager's hands turning the pages, which now was the only noise audible in the wagon, when, at some point, she remembered about the letter.
She didn't feel any more anxious about it, after that meeting with Peter and that adrenaline gave her the energies to finally take it out and read it.
Henry was sitting in front of her, reading a book and smoking a cigarette, rocked by the moving wagon.
She opened that envelope slowly, as if she was afraid to distract her manager from his own moment of relax.
It was handwritten and by the messy calligraphy, she could tell it'd been written all in once, perhaps in rush, even. She expected the worst, but she felt prepared anyhow.
"Dear Eleanor..."
She immediately frowned: why'd any of them dare greet her so warmly? She assumed it was just plain sarcasm and went on.
"I know how hypocrit that greeting may sound, but the purpose of this letter is nothing but apologise for the way I behaved. Atleast, I wish I could say "we, Buzzcocks", but it's just me writing this letter; the others aren't even aware. I just felt I had to do it. I simply didn't feel at ease with myself. Whatever I did, it came out of fear, or panic, I don't know. I just found myself trapped by the fear to lose everything all of a sudden and considering the hectic life I'm carrying on now, I just couldn't handle any more stress. I'm bloody tired, El. But I've also been a dick to you.
I don't know if you'll read this, if that idiot of Boon'll remember to give you this, if you'll burn it before even reading it all or whatever else. Just know that I want to apologise, that's it. And I want you to know that I do care for you. Hope you be doing better now. Even though I don't feel any more sympathy towards your friends Clash, just know that I am here for you, if you ever need to even just talk or something. But yes, I still do like you, Eleanor. All this stress and phrenesy given by touring nonstop must've turnt me into some kind of twat, I'm aware of that.
So yeah, whenever and if you want to talk etc, just know I'll be here. Even for something "more", if you get what I mean. Hope I didn't sound oportunist or something, that's not my aim, but it's up to you.
Once again, I'm sorry..."
Eleanor put down the letter, staring at the nothingness outside the window of the wagon, lost in those words. But it wasn't until she read that signature in the bottom of the paper, that she began to really feel... confused, nervous, paranoid, even.
Not even the perspective of an album with Peter could save her from that status, right there.
Reality crushed upon her shoulders again and the realised that maybe, changing chapter wouldn't be as immediate and easy and she'd predicted.
She casted one more glance at that paper, to spot that name written in the bottom of it and a hoard of memories arised and a mix of nostalgia and uneasiness filled her spirit.
Indeed: changing chapter would't be as immediate and quick.
"... So take care, alright.
My best regards,
Yours truly,
Steve Diggle".