Chapter 14
JOCK
‘Where the fuck is Laura?’ he shouts, ‘Have any of you seen her?’ The four men look from one to the other, nervously shaking their heads. No crew ever wants an angry principal guest. Especially an angry, famous, rich principal who didn’t bring any guests on the charter.
Hearing the raised voice outside, a tall, attractive blonde woman emerges from the interior of the yacht. She’s dressed in a crisp blue polo shirt and short white shorts that accentuate her long, tanned legs .
‘Is everything okay, Jock?’ Matilda asks, stepping a bare foot tentatively onto the wooden decking.
‘No, Matlida, everything is not okay,’ Jock rages. ‘Somehow, some fuckhead in the British press has got wind of me being in Monaco.’
‘I…’ Matilda starts, nervously adjusting the badge on her polo identifying her as the chief stewardess.
‘Where’s fucking Laura?’ Jock rushes past a stunned Matilda, into the yacht’s lounge. ‘LAURA!’ he shouts.
‘Down here,’ comes a muffled response from below. Jock stomps down the stairs and takes a left, into the costume room where Bella had unexpectedly found herself while looking for a toilet.
‘Vanessa, can you excuse us, please?’ Jock directs more than he asks the diminutive, dark-haired woman with a severe bob haircut and eccentric Dame Edna’esque glasses. ‘I’d like to talk to you tomorrow, though, please. 9 am. Okay?’
‘Sure, boss, no problem,’ Vanessa replies and leaves the room, glad to not be in the firing line but curious as to what has caused the normally placid Jock to rage.
‘Want to sit down, Jock?’ Laura points to the chair vacated by stylist Vanessa at a small desk covered in drawings of potential new band costumes. ‘We were just going through what’s left to be done on the new style and…’
‘No,’ Jock interrupts his personal assistant, ‘I don’t want to sit down. I want to pace. Because if I don’t pace, I might fucking punch something, or someone.’
‘What’s happened, Jock? Has someone on the yacht crew upset you? I’ll go talk to the captain if that’s the case.’
‘No, it’s not the crew. It’s the press!’ Jock’s anger builds at the mention of the word.
‘They’ve run a story in the gutter press which is complete fucking bollocks.
I need to speak to Nigel. Nigel needs to fix this and fix it now.
Get Nigel on the phone, Laura, please.’ Jock grabs a blonde mullet wig off the clothes rack, bundles it in his hand and throws it toward an open porthole window.
The shot misses, the wig hits the wall and slides onto the luxurious carpet below.
Laura picks up the chunky Inmarsat phone from the desk, pulling the satellite antenna out as far as it will go.
She punches in a string of numbers, then puts the phone to her ear.
‘Nigel?’ She asks when the call is answered.
‘I’m putting Jock on,’ she says simply, passing the heavy handset to a still pacing Jock.
‘Nigel?’ Jock confirms he’s speaking with Dreamstreet’s media manager, ‘I’ve got a problem I need you to fix, urgently.’
August 2nd - 8.45 am
Jock puts the pen in his hand down on the desk in the costume room, then re-reads the letter he’s just finished writing. Satisfied, he folds the paper, places it in an envelope and addresses it when there’s a quiet knock at the door. ‘It’s Vanessa,’ the hushed voice says.
‘Come in,’ Jock replies.
‘Everything okay?’ Vanessa asks tentatively, a different pair of Dame Edna-esque glasses balance on her tiny nose.
‘Not really,’ Jock replies with a sadness in his voice, ‘but I’m hoping it will be okay in the end.’
‘How can I help with that?’ Dreamstreet’s stylist asks.
‘We need to speed up the schedule. I want this boat to sail next Saturday,’ Jock states firmly.
‘Saturday the 9th?’ Vanessa asks, shocked. ‘I thought you were happy to stay in Monaco until the end of September, and we had plenty of time .
‘I was, but that’s changed. I need to get back home, back to my people, and I’m hoping I’ll be taking some special back with me.’ Jock stares wistfully for a moment out of the large porthole.
‘Right,’ Vanessa replies, her mind whirring.
‘Well then, we need to go to Milan on Monday for at least three or four days. The designers are being slow; if we are there, we can ride them to speed them up and give approval for final designs as they go. Anything they can’t get finished, they’ll just have to ship. How do you feel about a trip to Milan?’
‘Some distraction and a change of location is just what I need right now,’ Jock concedes.
‘Right, I’ll get Laura to book the three of us flights.’ Vanessa says, writing a note in her diary.
‘Vanessa,’ Jock says slowly.
‘Yes,’ she replies.
‘You don’t think Laura, or any of the crew, tipped off the press, do you? Gave them a heads up that I was staying in Monaco?’ Jock studies Vanessa, ‘and you didn’t, right?’ he finishes.
‘Jock, no! I would never,’ she responds with such sincerity that Jock immediately believes her.
‘And I don’t think Laura ever would.’ Vanessa actually thought that Laura was harbouring a pretty big crush on Jock, not that she’d throw her friend under the bus by telling her boss that.
But the last thing Laura would want is the world seeing Jock kiss a woman when she’d like to be the one on the other side of a kiss from him.
‘Someone on the crew then? Why the fuck can’t people just let me be?’ Jock asks.
1 pm
‘Stefan, permission to enter?’ Jock asks The Rock Star’s captain as he stands at the entrance to the bridge.
Stefan looks up from the paperwork in front of him. ‘Of course, Jock, what can I do for you? Siediti.’ He invites Jock in his native Italian to take a seat at the table with him, pointing to the empty chair at the same time.
‘I would like to cut the charter short,’ Jock starts.
‘Davvero?! Why?’ Stefan replies, shocked. ‘Is something wrong, Mr Jock?’
‘Yes, there’s something wrong. But I’m not sure it has anything to do with the charter,’ Jock says mysteriously. ‘I just need to, want to, get home sooner than I thought. Can we pull anchor next Saturday?’
‘And go where?’ Stefan asks.
‘Glasgow,’ Jock states, adding as an afterthought, ‘not all the way down the Clyde obviously. How long will that take?’
Stefan reaches behind him, retrieving a nautical chart.
He unrolls it on the table in front of him.
‘Let’s see,’ he ponders. ‘It’s about 1800 nautical miles, we go from the Med through the Strait of Gibraltar,’ he traces his finger on the map as he speaks, ‘through the Bay of Biscay and up. Si, it’s possible,’ the captain confirms.
‘And how long?’ Jock asks again.
‘Vediamo… maybe 10 days if the weather is perfect, 14 days if it’s not,’ he states. ‘Are you sure you don’t just want to fly?’
‘I’m very much hoping that I’ll have a friend with me, then 10-14 days will be a perfect amount of time to make up for my mistakes,’ Jock says.
‘And if no friend comes with you?’ Stefan asks.
‘Then the journey will give me time, and if I’m alone, I will need time before I can face life again,’ Jock sighs.
‘One more thing, Captain. I have every reason to believe you have a traitor on your staff. Someone who has sold me out to the tabloid press. I’d like that person found and removed from the charter before we sail…
Or, I’ll cancel.’ Jock’s eyes are steely.
‘Leave it with me,’ Stefan replies seriously, ‘I’ll get to the bottom of it, you can trust me.’
August 4th - 8 am
‘The taxi will be here in a minute, Jock,’ Laura calls down the stairs.
‘Right, thanks,’ he replies, emerging from his suite. ‘Can you send Stan or Alan down to me, please, Laura?’
‘How can I help?’ Stan asks a couple of minutes later.
Jock moves his face to within millimetres of Stan’s. Stan tries to move away, but there’s a wall stopping him. Jock glares at the young Australian, ‘Have you told ANYONE that I’m on this boat, Stan?’ He asks.
‘Of course not, sir,’ Stan replies earnestly.
‘Are you sure, Stan? No loose lips after a few Peronis?’ Jock presses.
‘No, I promise. I love this job. I wouldn’t do anything that would get me in trouble, Scouts honour,’ Stan replies, raising two fingers up to his right eyebrow in a form of salute.
‘Okay,’ Jock takes a step back. ‘I need you to do something very important for me, can you do that, Stan?’ Jock asks the deckhand.
‘Of course, Jock, anything,’ he replies, anxious to please and knowing that the size of his end-of-charter tip might depend on not fucking this up.
‘Can you drive?’ Jock asks the young man.
‘Yes, of course. I’ve been driving in the outback since I was ten,’ Stan replies confidently.
‘Driving on the Riviera is a bit different, but I’m sure you’ll work it out.
Here are the keys to my hire car,’ Jock says handing Stan a BMW keyring.
‘It’s parked in the Marina car park. You need to take this letter and hand deliver it to the campground in Antibes, the address and the person’s name are on the front, see,’ he says, pointing at the neat writing on the front of the crisp, white envelope.
Stan nods that he is following the instructions.
‘You have to put it in Bella’s hands and beg her to read it.
Do you understand? Don’t give it to anyone but Bella and tell her Jock says PLEASE read it, okay? ’
‘Sure thing, boss, got it,’ Stan nods, taking the envelope confidently from Jocks hands.
‘Don’t fuck this up, Stan, my future depends on it.’ Jock turns on his heels and strides off to find Laura and the waiting taxi.