Chapter 4 #2
He doesn’t get a chance to retaliate. We turn into the dining room – which Gethin commandeered for a boardroom on day one.
The stares from my waiting colleagues cut our conversation short.
Arms folded across paperwork, angry doodling on corners of notepads.
Gethin wasn’t lying when he said everyone was mad.
Gonna have to buy a lot of pints to make this better.
The prickles of their glares stoke my hangover. This is gonna be a two-coffee job, and my mug’s bone dry.
Gethin sits at the head of the table, hands clasped over the dark leather portfolio he carries everywhere.
Light shines through the slats in the blinds, casting him in that fucking eerie glow again.
His crease-free suit fits perfectly, and he’s shined his head so it looks like a bowling ball.
It’s like the hair migrated south one day, taking up residence as the world’s most glorious moustache instead.
The corners of my mouth threaten to twitch at the image, but I keep them under control.
Laughing right now would be like signing my death warrant.
He doesn’t speak. No need for him to. He raises both eyebrows, then nods at the two waiting chairs, and we scramble for our seats without another word.
Wait. Cai’s in here. That’s not right. He gets a free pass from these meetings because they’re about him.
Our jobs exist to plan his life and look after him.
He doesn’t get any input. I thought the coffee at the door was him saying sorry for the hangover, since the amount we drank was his idea.
And paid for by his bank card. Figured he was also being nosey about Ffion and wanted to grab as much gossip from me before I disappeared for an hour or two.
The greasy chips we ate on the way home sink like a stone in my belly. There’s only one reason he’d be invited along to this meeting. It’s a bollocking.
The antique carriage clock on the fireplace chimes half past ten.
Gethin clears his throat, shuffles his papers, and rearranges his pens.
His moustache twitches too, as if limbering up for the damnation he’s about to deliver.
When he finally speaks, it’s with his I’m-not-mad-just-disappointed voice.
‘I’ve let a lot slide with you two over the past ten years.
’ I hate that I shrink against my seat. Having him shout at us would be easier than this.
His tone curdles last night’s vodka. ‘Partying. Booze. Boys. Girls. Put it down to you being young at first but now you refuse to grow up. Do either of you want to tell me what happened last night?’
Like the wimp I am, I stay silent. Cai stares at me for a moment, probably hoping I take the lead. Nope. This one’s all on him. He tuts, and says, ‘We went to the label party at The Vale.’
‘And?’
‘There was a band and an after-party at G&T in town. But Rhys said it was fine if Richie stayed with us. And he did. I lost track of time once we got there.’
Gethin tosses his tablet down the table towards us. ‘A photographer caught you leaving G&T at six this morning.’
Cai’s Cardiff Celebration sits on top of the page in bold capitals, shouting out exactly why we’re in trouble.
Not the cleverest of headlines, but what do you expect from tabloid scum like Y Cyhoeddwr?
Sliding my fingers on the screen reveals a picture of me and Cai, Ffion sandwiched between us.
The three of us laugh as we fall out of the club.
What a bloody state. Alcohol stains my jeans and his top.
Lipstick smears her mouth and her clothes are all twisted, like we’re leaving an orgy, not a nightclub.
To rub salt in the wound, the colour photograph they chose shows light purple bleeding into the inky darkness.
Dawn’s on the horizon, and the entire story tells the world we’ve been out all night.
Fuck, they work fast.
Gethin reaches for his cup of tea. The steam curls towards the exposed wooden beams stretching over the ceiling. He takes a loud gulp. I wince.
‘There’s a reason Topaz keeps on beating you to the number one spot, Cai,’ he says, once his cup clinks back on the saucer.
‘He works twice as hard. Barely takes a breath. He performs his entire set on a treadmill every morning to improve his stamina. You’ll always choose going out drinking over the gym, but it’s not enough anymore.
If you want to reclaim the top of the charts, you’ve got to pull your finger out.
Stop partying, start rehearsing properly. Work out more. Book more press.’
Cai clenches his jaw. ‘But—’
‘Don’t you dare complain.’ Gethin points his finger down the table.
He’s been watching The Apprentice again.
‘You have to sell more tickets, and getting yourself out there is what compels people to buy. From tomorrow, I’m doubling up on PR.
More signings, more radio shows. Interviews sell merchandise, albums, bums-on-seats. ’
He pauses to flick through the hard copy of Cai’s schedule. Everything’s online. Gethin’s the one who plugs Cai’s diary into our computers and phones, but he prefers to read it on paper. He crosses something off with his Montblanc fountain pen. Bougie.
‘Don’t think I won’t cancel the tour. The point of no return’s only a few weeks away and waiting too long means sacrificing your deposits. I doubt you want to lose out on all that money.’
‘No!’
‘You’ve not sold out yet. You can’t afford to sleep on this. Why would they travel all over the country for you? If you don’t give a toss, why should your fans? How would they feel if we cancelled an entire tour because you chose partying over them?’
Cai’s bouncing leg jiggles my chair, and I pat his knee in a lame attempt to calm him. Poor guy. He bloody adores his fans and the spotlight. Playing and touring mean a lot to him. But he also loves a fucking party and never knows when to call it a day.
Some best friend I am. Should know the signs by now, should be able to tell him it’s time to go home.
The harshness falls out of Gethin’s face.
‘I know you hate doing all the official press and would rather have a more organic experience with your fans. But we all discussed this earlier and agreed that you need to do more.’ The team, silent up until now, nods and murmurs their support.
Traitors. ‘I’ll be hiring a personal assistant to make our plans run more smoothly. ’
Oh, bloody hell. We tried this before and it was gross. PAs equal no fun ever. Margaret never let us slip out for a cheeky beer on a warm day. There was no partying or sneaking hot girls home. Everything got reported to Gethin. She was the worst.
They’re all the same. Look at Topaz’s minion.
All boring and rigid with her high heels, pencil skirts, and Topaz comes first without even considering anyone else.
He can’t wipe his own arse without running it past her first. Finding time for him and Cai to get together was a fucking nightmare with her iron grip on Topaz’s diary and bloody Margaret controlling Cai’s.
Nah, I’m not having this. The meeting’s been Cai-centric so far, and I should stay quiet, slip under Gethin’s radar. But I don’t want the fun to end. I work fucking hard, and the parties are bloody rare already.
‘Is a PA the best—’
‘Yes,’ Gethin cuts me off. Fucking rude. ‘The agency sent over suggestions of assistants who specialise in marketing and public relations. I want someone who can revitalise Cai’s social media accounts and keep you in check.’
Keep us in check like we’re bloody toddlers? No, thank you.
‘But what about their—’
‘Vetting? Rhys, I taught you everything you know. Why would I omit something so basic?’