Chapter 11
Tad - Dad
Rhys
My dad rings when I’m on my way to the house the next morning, and I’m still on the call when I pull into the drive. Which is annoying, cos I like to keep chats with him as short as I can.
‘I dunno how I can shift a bloody wardrobe by myself, lad,’ he says for the umpteenth time.
Reversing into my usual spot in front of the garage needs enough concentration for me to not bother replying. When I put the car into park, I send a short prayer that turning the engine off will disconnect the call and I won’t have to drag this out any further.
‘I’ll put my back out doing it alone.’ Still here, then. ‘Won’t you come help your old man? It’s a lad's job to look after his old fella. After all, I spent so many years looking after you.’
Since when did kicking us out of the house the minute Mam left the world count as caring for us? He did none of the hard work bringing us up. Wanted nothing to do with us. With me. He tolerated Beth cos she did well in school. Thought he could make some money from her when she grew up.
I prop the phone between my ear and shoulder and fumble for the key to the front door. It swings open, revealing Lucy lurking behind it. Got a tracker on me now, has she? She must have been waiting, cos she springs into action as soon as I cross the threshold.
‘Rhys, we need to talk about today’s agenda.’ She lifts her tablet, the screen flashing in a series of reds and greens, and she pokes her finger at something I don’t have the time to stare at. ‘Cai’s plans have changed, and we—’
‘Can’t you see I’m on the phone?’ My question slides between gritted teeth.
‘What’s that, lad? Speak up, will you? Always mumbling, never bloody clear,’ Tad grumbles.
‘I wasn’t talking to you. I’m at work, I need to go.’
‘A ddewch chi i’m helpu?’
‘I can’t. I told you. I’m on tour by then. Get a man with a van. I’ll pay if you don’t have the cash.’
‘But the press conference,’ Lucy carries on. ‘I’ve moved it and I…’
I weave past her, ignoring how she continues to wave her tablet at me, her voice going quieter the further I get away from her.
Thank fuck for long legs. Used to be a time when a guy could arrive at work, ease himself into the office with a coffee and time to read his emails.
Not this war on my damn ears this early in the morning.
‘Oh, too big and important to come help your tad? I’m on tour. You never do anything for me, Rhys. Don’t care about me.’
‘I offered to pay for the help, Tad. Nothing else I can do. Not like I can leave Manchester and drive to Cardiff.’
‘You would have for your mam.’
Yeah, cos she was a fucking saint, the best woman in the world.
‘I can’t. No way around it. Who’d look after Cai if I came back to Cardiff?’
‘Who’d look after Cai? Who’s looking after your tad?
Not your sister, who’s fucked off to London.
’ She moved that far to get away from you.
‘Well, when I have a heart attack from shifting an oak cwpwrdd all by myself, you make sure you have time from your precious tour to make the funeral, ‘eh? Fucking load of good you turned out to be. Running around after your gay mate isn’t exactly a career choice, son.’
He hangs up. I chuck my phone onto my desk and sink into my chair, head in my hands. If there was any way I could help him, I would. Not from some moral sense of obligation to him, but cos it would shut him up.
Like any other time I speak to him, his words work their way under my skin.
Must be all the hard consonants and throat-clearing.
Tad has a way of making me feel like the worst person in the world, even when I’ve done nothing wrong.
His tone, his fucking top-tier skill at beating me with words, brings me back to when I was a kid and worth nothing more than the shit on his shoe.
A knock at the office door interrupts my wallowing.
‘Not right now. I’m busy.’
‘But Rhys, I need to—’
‘No, Lucy. Give me five minutes. We have a meeting and whatever it is you need to talk to me about can wait until then.’
I can picture her lips disappearing into a thin line, but she doesn’t knock again. Good. Sooner she learns about boundaries, the better. A guy’s allowed a minute to get settled into work before he gets bombarded.
A twitch of my mouse has my screen back to life.
Cai’d kill me if he learns I put my computer into hibernate instead of turning it off.
Not really saving electricity, is it? My business plan’s the first window open.
Over a year ago, I had the idea that I could start my own business for celebrity security.
Must have had a good day that filled me with a fuck ton of confidence or something.
Worked on it for a bit last night, but I shut it down now.
No point in having ideas for the future when I’m too old for all this, if I’m too shit to pull it off.
Plus, at least if I’m working with Cai, I can escape Tad.
If I’m stuck at home, I’d have no reason to avoid him.
My calendar is the next screen open. I frown as I check today’s appointments.
That’s not right. All we’re supposed to have is a visit to City Stadium.
They’re setting the stage up for the first time and we all get to check it before we sign it off and pack it into lorries.
After that, there was supposed to be nothing else.
But now, a whole chunk of time’s blocked out afterwards and in big capital letters are the words: PRESS CONFERENCE.
What fucking press conference? Who the fuck signed off on that? We’ve still got days until Cai starts pre-tour marketing.
I swear to our Lord and Saviour Tom Jones, if Lucy’s gone and arranged something without me, Gethin won’t hear the end of it.
Phone snatched from the desk, I burst out of my chair.
There’s no sign of her when I explode into the corridor.
Seems she took the hint and fucked off. I thumb through my phone calendar as I storm towards the boardroom.
The door’s open, and I barge in. I toss the mobile onto the table, calendar entry open on the screen, a big red expanse of my fucking day.
‘What the hell is this?’
His stupid fucking moustache twitches like a guinea pig at an all-greens buffet. One night, I’m gonna sneak into his swanky Cardiff Bay flat and shave the damn thing off.
‘It’s a mobile phone, Rhys.’
Don’t call him a twat. Don’t call him a twat. ‘Who approved a press conference for today?’
His eyes sweep past my shoulder. I spin around. Of fucking course. Lucy’s already sat in her usual seat, hands folded neatly over her stupid notebook.
‘You had no right making the changes without talking to me first. This is the second time you’ve landed a fucking massive event on me last bloody minute. You of all people know the shit I’m in right now without Richie here. Am I supposed to pull bodyguards out of my arse or something?’
‘There’s nothing for you to do.’ She remains in her seat, her legs crossed at the ankle, all prim and proper like she’s the queen or something.
‘We were at City Stadium to test the staging and their conference suite was available. It’s easier this way – kill two birds with one stone.
Some of the journalists grumbled about having to come up the M4, but they’ve made it work.
Saves us money, and by moving things around, we all get a day off tomorrow. ’
‘And what about security for the press conference? I had a whole team organised for the Savoy. Have you told them they’re no longer needed? Who’ll work? When’d you decide this? You should have spoken to me before making the change.’
‘Yesterday.’
‘Yesterday?’ I had to deal with Richie in rehearsals. Took less than an hour, though, so she had plenty of time to grab me after. ‘Why didn’t you—’
‘I was the one who asked Lucy to change the plans,’ Gethin says.
‘We all need a pre-tour day off. The opportunity was there, and at the end of the day, the running of this business is on me. The venue has guards; you can use the same set-up as The Record Store, and I’ll be there too. I did send you an email.’
My alerts are always turned off. I’m fed up with the notifications. Ping ping ping. It’s distracting. And I’ve only been in for two fucking minutes.
‘It’s my job to sort this shit out.’ I round on Lucy again, jabbing a finger at her. ‘Learn to communicate properly. It’s bad enough having you organising every sodding minute of our lives, but now you can’t be bothered to talk to me about shit?’
I scoop my phone from the table and throw myself into an empty chair. Team meeting’s about to start, and I’m not gonna leave the room to have them talk about me behind my back.
‘Rhys,’ Gethin starts, ‘I know you’re annoyed, but—’
‘I did try to speak to you,’ she cuts through him.
I’d be impressed at her balls if I wasn’t fucked off with her.
Her small, tight voice doesn’t diminish her audacity, but if she cries, I’ll withdraw my kudos.
‘I came to your office yesterday to discuss it along with the fan mail situation, but you were dealing with Richie. So I sent you an email and a text to remind you to check your inbox. When I didn’t hear from you, I used the autonomy Gethin gave me to make the decision by myself.
Cai’s schedule is my responsibility. I’m sorry the change was last-minute, but it’s not my fault if you don’t keep on top of your messages. ’
‘Excuse me for not reading a damn email while I’m busy firing my trusted member of staff. Come on.’
‘I tried to speak to you once Richie left, but you barked at anyone who got remotely close to you.’
Because she was coming at me with her usual interfering tone, and I was too tamping to take a nagging on top of almost being thumped by the guy.
Plus, with one guard down, I had work to do.
Spent the rest of rehearsals waging an argument with my laptop, tap tapping away to find someone to replace him.