Chapter 9

The three copies of the book Oracles of Aten, currently stored in Jeremy's basement, were proof that Alicia's story about the sect was not entirely fanciful, however imaginative her general interest in the occult might be. Could she, for instance, really believe in astrology? Dale asked her once why, since the constellations and planets were clearly visible in the night sky, no one had successfully predicted the winning numbers of the national lottery from them. Her answer was that the stars might be useful for forecasting general trends or bringing out people's inner natures, but they might not be suitable for pinpointing specific items of data. Did she, though, really believe that something that did not work with straightforward questions would be effective with highly complex ones?

Yet, after the dodgy sect had been wound up, her twice a year contact with Rick Schwagger might have been only very brief phone calls or e-mails. Even if he still wanted help, it might only be with checking dates and sorting out old papers, not actual 'ghost' writing, for which other people, Loyd Larcher for instance, were likely to be much better suited. Not that I would be sniffy about even routine work for such a famous rock and roll celebrity.

She e-mailed him about updating his horoscope, adding that if he still wanted help with his autobiography, she knew someone who might be suitable. Inevitably she mentioned that I was 'gifted'.

A reply came the next day, commissioning the horoscope update, and asking for more information about me. Within a week I received an e-mail asking for a short meeting.

I was collected from Fulrose Court by car a few evenings later, having left work early, showered, and put on my coolest clothes. Bang on time the door bell rang. I opened it to find a middle-aged man with a shaven head who said, 'Hello, you Ben? All ready to go?' I followed him down to a limousine. He opened a rear door for me, said everyone called him 'The Handyman', and invited me to help myself to drinks from the little bar fitted behind the front seats. Worried that alcohol, combined with anxiety, might dull my brain when I saw the man himself, I chose a small bottle of orange juice. The Handyman must have been watching in the mirror, for he said, 'You're not a boozer, then?'

'I do drink alcohol. It's a bit early.'

'Excuse me for asking, but are you working? Alicia said you helped out in her shop sometimes.'

'Yes. But I work mostly in the bookshop a few doors along.'

'Bookshop? Sounds okay. Last one we tried for Rick's book was full of crap. Turned out to be a journalist wanting to dig up smut on the lads. Caused us no amount of trouble. Had to teach him a lesson.'

Worried, I said: 'I hope we're not starting off with the idea that I'll need to be taught a lesson?'

'Don't take it like that. If you're straight with me, I'll see you're okay. You have to understand people are trying it on with the lads all the time. My job is to keep shit stirrers away. If you're genuine you've got nothing to worry about. What do you sell in the bookshop? Porn?'

'No, it isn't bloody porn. We sell antiquarian books.'

'Got you going, have I? I'd better not call it a second-hand bookshop, then. Look, I've got nothing against you. For all I know you're a diamond. Relax, forget I said anything. Sit back and have your drink. I'll put some music on.'

I could see very little through the car's tinted windows, and he would not tell me where we were headed 'on account of security'. The opening guitar riff of The Rocking Boulders' early song Striped Candy came through the speakers behind me, followed by the voice of the young-sounding Schwagger:

Half an hour later we turned off the road into a short drive. We left the car and walked to the entrance of a large villa, the front door ornamented by art nouveau glass panels. The Handyman ushered me up to a first-floor parlour, where I saw waiting for me the The Rocking Boulders' lead guitarist, Heath Prityards. He was on his own, sitting on a long sofa, blowing his nose loudly and at length.

'I dunno, you're supposed to have come off everything, but you're still doing a lot of snorting, ' The Handyman said disrespectfully.

'Very funny, Handyman, ' Heath said, not appearing to mind the jibe. 'So, ' he asked, nodding in my direction, 'this him, the one with the sixth sense? Least he don't look too much of a freak.' This remark came from a man whose wizened face was even more lined and haggard than in recent press photographs, and whose hair sprouted from his customary head scarf like the bristles of a severely battered paint brush.

'You've got about an hour, ' said The Handyman, leaving us together.

I sat down and refused Heath's offer of a drink. Next he offered a smoke, and when I turned that down he lit up a cigarette for himself. Then he asked if I wanted to try some of his prescribed medication, all the 'stuff', he said, his minders would let him have these days, although one of his 'tabs' could, he promised, give me a bit of a buzz.

'Thanks, but I'm fine, really.'

'Suit yourself. What d'you want to do then? Go through some of our old photographs?'

'Yes, that would be great.'

He pulled out one of perhaps a dozen enormous photograph albums. 'Sit beside me over here so I can show you.'

With the album spread across our laps, he turned page after page of pictures from the nineteen-sixties, the faces of the adolescent group appearing astonishingly innocent. Some were of the band on stage, some showed them relaxing indoors, but the most striking were outdoor shots. They had a rawness to them. 'Wow, ' I said, 'plenty to choose from here for an autobiography. When will Rick be joining us?

'Sorry mate, he's still in Saint Tropez. He's left a voice mail for you though.' Heath handed me a phone.

I was awed to hear one of the music world's most famous voices speak to me personally. 'Came down here on a quick trip but have got a bit sucked in so, you know, thought I'd leave you a quick message to say, you know, basically, got to be quick, thing is, me and Teef go far back, way far back, so he should be able to clear up any queries you've got. Hope to have a quick word with you some other time. Quick bye for now.'

I handed the phone back to Heath and said, 'It sounded like he called you "Teef".'

'He calls me that, on account of me having buck teeth when I was a kid.' He pointed to his incisors, as though I might not know where his buck teeth had been. He added, 'I sometimes call him Quick.'

'Quick?'

'Because when he talks, every third word you hear is "quick". Don't put that in the book, will you? He don't like other people knowing about the nickname, thinks Quick Schwagger might be misinterpreted.'

I laughed.

'What's so funny?' he asked.

'Haven't heard him called Quick Schwagger before. What actually is it that he wants me to do?'

The question surprised him, and he stared at me open mouthed.

'What I mean is, does it make sense for me to start researching his early years, family history, school days and so on? In the phone message he said you would know... '

'Like to help, but I have to admit taking so much stuff over the years has more or less blown my brains out. Quick and I did go to school together, but I don't really remember that far back.'

'You can't have lost it to that extent. You still play on stage in concerts.'

'My fingers still seem to remember what to do, unless it's the sound technicians playing it all back from recordings. An army of people are hidden away backstage who take care of everything. I strut about up front, that I can still do, but I don't really know what's going on, tell you the truth. Don't put that in the book though, will you. Quick wouldn't like it.'

'Well, in that case, I'd better wait until I can talk to Quick, I mean Rick, himself.'

'That won't help you much. He can't concentrate for long ... round about fifteen seconds. Not because of the drugs. He thinks he takes a load of stuff, but he doesn't really. Thing is he gets pissed on half a pint of beer; a couple of tokes of a spliff and he's away with the fairies, no offence to you like, you being a bender.'

Alicia must have mentioned that I was gay. He had been friendly until then, but the word 'bender' is a put-down. I said, 'Yes, I'm gay. Can you tell me what help is actually wanted from me with the book?'

'Not for me to tell you something like that, is it? What I was saying about Quick was ... well ... let him near any coke, soon as a couple of specks have gone up his nostrils he'll be straight out of the door, stopping women in the street and asking them to swap clothes with him. He thinks he's taking genuine stuff big time, but what The Handyman does, is let him have a small shandy or half a tab of something and the rest is all vitamins and sugar pills. You need to understand, when you do see him, you mustn't give him anything that's too strong, in fact best not give him anything at all.'

He was surely having me on, so I said, 'The photographs are great. Is there anything else, personal papers or diaries, that I could see?'

'No. The idea is for you to do it by reading the tarot cards, shaking round the old juju beads, or whatever it is you use.'

'Very funny, but we've only got an hour; we need to be practical. To do research, I'll need to have access to personal papers, or interview people.'

'Oh no, Quick won't want you to go round asking people about him. They might say all sorts of things he wouldn't like. You mustn't tell him you was thinking of doing that. He can get nasty if he don't get his own way. Alicia told him you was gifted.'

'She thinks I know things intuitively, but... '

'That's better. I'll tell Quick you'll find out intuitively what to put in the book. He'll like that.' A gong, the dinner signal, rang downstairs, bringing our meeting to an end. 'Thank God the food's ready, ' Teef said. 'You don't half get desperate for your nosh when they won't let you have any decent gear. Nice to have met you. Try and smuggle a few tabs in past The Handyman for me if you come again. He'll take you back home now.'

'Why do you call him that, "The Handyman"?'

'It's his nickname. His real name is Andy Handman, and he's handy to have around, so we call him The Handyman. Get it? He does loads of jobs for us, not just ferrying people about in the car.'

On the way home The Handyman asked me whether Teef had offered me any of his pills. I said evasively, 'I don't do drugs.'

'Proper Goody Two Shoes, aren't you? Didn't come on to you, did he, you being a bender? You never know, these days a gay boy might get him going. You're not bad looking.'

'Why should it matter to you if he did fancy me?'

'Well, I make anything to do with the lads my business. Teef doesn't really have sex any more, not as we know it. Do him good to have a bit of fun with someone. He used to be mad for the girls, but he hasn't made a play for anyone for years. I've taken high class chicks up to the room for him to try to get him interested, but it's no use, waste of money, he's not like he was in the old days. Having you might have been a bit of novelty for him.'

'Well he didn't. You're making a lot out of me being gay.'

'Oh, you're well known for it, mate. That and the fortune telling.'

My hour with Teef, memorable though it had been, was not what anyone would call an interview. Surely he had been joking when he said information for the book was to come through tarot cards or juju beads. Ought I to take anything he or The Handyman had said seriously? Perhaps they had been expecting to enjoy a good laugh at some clairvoyant type who would go swooning around the room detecting supposed concentrations of psychic energy and having to be revived with smelling salts.

When I reported back to Alicia, infuriatingly she asked, 'Well, Heath's suggestions are not a surprise to me. Why can't you use your gifts to help you?'

'I am not psychic. A biography is a life story. It needs facts, not fancies.'

'You're so stubborn. If you're to get anywhere in life you'll have to come to terms with having special powers. You're in a state of denial. Do you want the high point of your career to be having a cup of tea with Jeremy? Can't you try to open your mind to wider possibilities a little bit?'

This was unkind to Jeremy, who had helped her so much to set up her shop. He always spoke well of her, and defended her against my charge that she made money out of hocus-pocus. Even Dale did not understand how I felt about my meeting with Heath. He said, 'You're a lucky bastard. First you get to meet Loyd Larcher, now it's Heath Prityards. People pay hard-earned cash to go to concerts to see him far away on stage, and treasure the memory of being one of the crowd. You get driven to his home and spend time on your own with him. What more do you want? So far the best thing that's happened to me all week has been finding a firm that might offer a few hundred pounds to buy some of the old laundry equipment from the hospital.'

Almost a week passed without any further word from The Rocking Boulders. Thinking over the exchanges with The Handyman, and Heath's reluctance or inability to tell me anything useful, they might well have given up on me. I was thinking about sending an e-mail to ask how things stood, when The Handyman rang to say he would collect me again that very evening. In the car he resurrected my hopes, saying that Teef was really keen to see me. 'He's started calling you "Bendy" — on account of you being a bender. It's almost like old times, Teef coming up with a nickname like that. Rick's away again, though.'