Date: Fri, 18 Jan 2008 07:34:45 EST
From: Djedoric58@aol.com
Subject: THE BULL SINGER CHAPTER TWO

THE BULL SINGER
By DJ
CHAPTER TWO

I secured the house, gave Dad his tablets and carried him back upstairs. As
he settled down to sleep, I leaned down to plant a kiss on his
forehead. "Thanks Dad."

He gazed up at me and said in a tired voice, "So, that little lad was
your...your."

"Yes, Dad, he was my boyfriend. My first and my last, I think. No one could
ever take his place. But he wasn't so little. He would have been eighteen
next week."

He nodded and closed his eyes. "All legal then."

"Yes, Dad."

Surprised he knew about the change in the law, I walked towards the door
and as I reached it, he said, "Good drummer. Not as good as Kruper though."

I smiled as I closed the door; thankful he had accepted what some parents
would have torn their hair out at. I didn't think I would get the same
sympathy from Aunt Mabel.

I made my way up the narrow staircase to the tiny attic I used to play in
as a child when Aunt Mabel reluctantly looked after me. She terrified me in
those days. Today, when she had tried to order me about, I just gave her a
big smile and she snorted and turned away, but I saw her lips twist into a
ghost of a smile. Would she let me have the keys to the cottage in the
morning? Of course she would, the old battle-axe was putty in my hands.

When I opened the attic door I saw how much she loved me. The place had
been cleared, my toys and books placed in a crate, and an airbed blown up,
placed in the centre of the floor and covered over with great grandma's
heirloom quilt. A table lamp and my travel alarm clock had been placed had
been placed on a box nearby, and the contents of my bag stacked neatly in
one corner with my clothes folded on top. Very cosy, but I could have slept
on the bare boards that night, I was so tired and drained; too tired to
sleep in fact. Or so I thought. I fell asleep thinking of Billy, my
wonderful lover, my friend, my life, on the verge of stardom like a rosebud
opening into full flower, only to have its petals ripped away by a savage
autumn wind. We had lovely two years together, Billy and I, my lover
forging ahead in his bid to bring the drums back into fashion as a solo
instrument, as Krupa, his idol, had done before him. I had followed along
like a happy puppy as his carer, minder and companion besides keeping him
satisfied in bed. The band had refused to split from us, and they had
become Billy's backing band, providing encouragement and support,
transport, and help when at last Billy was offered a recording contract;
only a small one with a new and rising two-man record company. The band
came into their own by acting as sales managers and distributors of the
discs we produced.  Then the big surprise of the century hit us with a
bang. A firm of solicitors contacted us with news that Billy's
great-grandfather had left the D'Marco family a legacy, and not a small one
either. So far, Billy was the only surviving member except for a possible
second cousin who could not be found, despite all effort by the solicitors.
A hundred thousand was not to be sneezed at. With the insurance money paid
on Bill's death, Billy was comfortably off compared to a lot of struggling
stars who had to rely on the meagre royalties paid to them. Billy left it
to his solicitors to invest a good chunk of it and put the rest in his
bank. It wasn't until his life was at an end that Billy told me he had made
a will and that he had named me as his sole beneficiary. I didn't want it
but he was adamant

 "I want you to have it all, Mags. Please don't argue with me. I can't
think of anyone else who deserves it as much as you do." We were lying in
bed in the big house on the night he died, and I was cradling him in my
arms, a frail shell of the boy whose body I had known so well. The doctors
could do no more for him and I had brought im home. A remnant of the brain
tumour, he had supposedly recovered from, had attacked another part of his
body and spread. With all the mad running from gig to gig and long spells
in the recording studios, his health was the last thing he thought of, and
the cancer had been detected too late. Now I was going to lose the most
beautiful human being to ever come into my life. Most of my time was spent,
feeding him, washing him, keeping him comfortable and warm, and loving him
as best I could .

"What will I do with it?"

"Whatever you like. Give it to the band; give it `Guide Dogs for the
Blind'. Whatever you want. Just don't leave it for the mice to chew to
bits. Do something in my memory, Mags. Make it mean something, and find
that cousin of mine."

"What do you know about him?"

 "Nothing. I didn't even know granddad had a brother." I noticed his speech
was becoming slurred, but put it down to the painkilling medication he was
on. "The last anyone heard of Great-grandfather Guilliamo, and his wife
Juliana, was when they sent my grandfather to England in the care of a
nurse. It was nineteen forty and they were allied sympathisers living in
Germany. Grandfather was only a tiny baby then. They were arrested and no
one heard of them again.

Grandfather Ronaldo grew up in an orphanage in London, learned to be a good
chef and dreamed of owning a string of restaurants. He fell in love with my
grandmother instead. He went back to Germany to see if he could trace
Guilliamo's whereabouts but came up against a blank wall. By the time my
dad was ten, Ronaldo and my grandmother were dead. That's all we know."

     "Well, you can rest easy that your cousin will get his or her share."
I felt his arms tighten a little round my waist. "All I care about right
now is what I can do for you?" That brought laugh from him, and a hand
dropped to my penis. "Don't tease."

"Who's teasing?" He lifted his head and his lips brushed mine. His hand
stroked me and I let out a sigh, feeling my penis respond to his gentle
touch. "You asked me what you could do for me. If I were to die tonight,
the only memory I would want is the feel you inside me, your body against
mine, your arms holding me close, and your lips on mine."

The doctor had warned me he could go at any time, days, hours,
minutes... "Don't talk that way. I don't want to lose you."

"Then love me, Mags."

I fucked him in his favourite position, with me sitting back against the
pillows, and his body lying on top of mine so we could make total
contact. I placed my arms round his weakened body and we kissed deeply as
we rocked gently together. His orgasm was slow and gentle, while I held
mine back and withdrew, shooting into a conveniently placed
towel. Afterwards, he asked me to hold me as if he were a baby.  With my
eyes filling with tears, I cradled him in my arms with his head resting on
my shoulder, and we stayed like that till he suddenly whispered, "I love
you, Mags." I felt him relax against me, and he sighed but didn't breathe
in again. I gazed down at his face. His eyes were closed and he looked so
peaceful, and I knew I had lost him forever.

* * *

In my attic room, I turned over and wept into the pillow, but I knew that,
because of Dad's understanding, I was on the way to being healed. Time to
think about the missing cousin...



* *



It was a shock to the system when Aunt Mabel nodded and said, "Certainly
you can have the keys. They're yours, anyway."

"Huh?"

She stared at me as if I was stupid. "Your grandfather willed it to you. If
you had bothered to take an interest in family affairs, instead of busking
around the world with your dreams of stardom, you would have found out
about it a lot sooner."

"But why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Your father didn't want us to. He wanted you to come home under your own
steam and not due to some ulterior motive. Jim Owen jumped in with his big
mouth when he shouldn't have, otherwise you would not have known now." She
moved to the old fashioned Welsh dresser and opened a drawer. After
rummaging in it, she brought out a set of keys and tossed them to me. "What
are you going to do with the cottage?"

"I'll see if it can be renovated then move in. I might as well."

Aunt Mabel turned to lift the porridge pan off the range. "Better get some
of this into you then; you're going to be busy."



I got to the cottage, armed with a list of telephone numbers of Dad's
tradesmen friends who would probably help. Once inside the cottage, I
rooted around for tools and cleaning tackle, and made a few phone
calls. Then I set my trap.

I placed the two packs of wholemeal salad sandwiches, Aunt Cissy had made,
beside the CD player, with a flask of coffee, and a bottle of fruit juice
along with some nectarines. I was into healthy food and hoped the kid as
too. I placed my own favourite CD in the CD player, and sat down on the
floor behind the open door. By my watch, and from what I remembered of my
walks home from school in all weathers, it was about time for him to be
home and heading towards the cottage. I didn't have Major with me so I
didn't have to worry about my presence being announced away by him. I
waited half an hour longer than the estimated time, and then I heard the
scuffle of someone in the back of the house.  I heard soft footsteps
approach the mirror room and held my breath. The kid moved into the room
like an SAS soldier, looking for signs of intrusion. Then he spotted the
food and the fruit juice. Again he checked the room and, finding no one
there he went to the food, dropped his school bag on the floor and attacked
the sandwiches. As he crammed food into his mouth like it was his last meal
on earth, I put my foot against the edge of the door and gave it a
shove. It shut with a loud thump. The kid spun round, his mouth full, saw
me and dropped the sandwich. Spitting the food out of his mouth, he looked
round desperately for some way out. He ran to the windows and tried to open
one, then turned round and crouched, ready to defend himself. I stayed
where I was on the floor, and waited for him to calm down and realise I
wasn't going to jump him. That's how most kids thought these days. I didn't
blame him. "There's enough for both of us. Just bring me the coffee and one
of the paper cups. The juice is yours, unless you'd like some coffee
too. You look old enough to be drinking it. There's one of my CDs in the
player. I thought you might like to listen to it. It's music from some of
the best song and dance films ever made."

"Fuck you."

"No thanks, and I'm no intention of fucking you either."

The kid looked towards the food then back at me. "How did you get in here?"

I held up my keys and rattled them.

"You're trespassing. Who are you?

"I'm not trespassing. I own the place, and my name is Magnus Alton."

"Prove it."

Boy, this kid knew a bit about looking after himself. I took out my wallet
and tossed it across the floor. It came to rest by his feet and he picked
it up. My driver's licence was in it, along with other items of identity. I
watched him look through it, and at the bank notes, all counted in case he
had light fingers. He tossed it back at me and picked up the remnants of
his sandwich before slumping down by the player. He ate the sandwich, dirt
and all. He must have been really hungry.

"Hey, don't I get to eat?" The kid grabbed the second packet of sandwiches
and tossed them at me with such force that they hit the wall above my head
and, being only loosely wrapped, they burst open, showering me with bread
and bits of salad. I resisted the urge to go over and put him over my
knee. "Okay, that means I get some of yours. And don't forget the coffee,
and don't you dare throw it that flask. I'm a lot bigger than you and you
have to get past me to get out of the cottage, so why don't you just calm
down and get back to your rehearsals. That's what you came for, isn't it?"

"Fuck you," he said again, but got to his feet and brought me the flask and
the last of his own sandwiches. He leaned down to place them a foot or too
away from me, keeping himself out of grabbing distance, and at last I got a
good look at his face; and felt the blood drain from my face.

With a different hairstyle and a cleaner face, he could have been Billy. My
head spun, and I came out of my shocked daze to find him kneeling in front
of me with his hands on my shoulders. "Are you okay, mister? You looked
sort of funny, like you were going to pass out." Once he was sure I was not
going to do that, he opened the flask and poured some coffee into the paper
cup. He held it out to me and watched me drink it. There was a bruise high
up on his left cheek. He moved away from me, and studied me with dark
luminous eyes. "Do you feel better now? You'd better eat that sandwich
before your blood sugar gets too low. That's probably why you look the way
you do."

"I'm okay, now.  Thanks." I finished the coffee and refilled the cup. "Want
some?"

The kid shook his head and went back to the CD player, switched it on and
picked up the bottle of fruit juice. As the sound of `42nd street' hit my
ears, I finished my sandwich and the coffee, collected the remnants of the
first one together, and stuffed it back into the broken wrapper a best I
could. I screwed the top back on the flask and put that and the wrapper
back into the plastic bag I had carried everything into the cottage
in. Straightening up, I got ready to leave. "You're welcome to use the
place for your practice any time; at least till I move in here. Then you'll
have to ask pretty please." There were two front door keys on the ring. I
took one off and tossed it to him. "Just don't go removing any more window
panes, okay? And no vandalising the place or having gangs of mates in
here. This is going to be my home and I hope you will treat it with
respect. If you don't, I know where you live."

"Thanks, mister. How long a have I got?"

"Till the builders start work. After that, they'll will be in and out and
doing various jobs. How long for I can't say, but when they do I expect you
to be a gentleman and let them get on with their work."

"What are you having done?"

"The whole shoot.  Things like getting that old fireplace in the other
lounge opened up, double glazing to stop kids like you breaking in, central
heating, the kitchen and bathroom need gutting and replastering and new
units put in, then there's the decorating to be done throughout."

"Maybe I could help."

"You should be in school."

"I've been suspended."

"What for?"

The kid shrugged. "Fighting."

"Is that how you got your bruise?"

"No."

"How did you get it?"

"None of your business."

"So how come you're making like you are going to school? Does your mother
know yet?"

"No."

I guessed what he was up to. This was as good a place as any to hide away
from his mother and the school inspectors. It hadn't been all that hard to
play truant when I was a lad, leaving home at school-time with my bag, and
hopping on a bus in town to anywhere, then returning home at the
appropriate time with my mother none the wiser. I hadn't done it too often,
a leathering from my dad put a stop to all that, plus a carrot dangled in
my face. `Go to school and your Aunt Millie and I will see you get to music
college. Don't go to school and you work on the farm.'

Just then there was a knock at the front door. The kid flinched and looked
round for somewhere to hide. I went out of the room and closed the door. My
visitor was an architect, the first of Dad's friends to answer my phone
calls. The only room he didn't get to see was the mirror lounge. When I
went back in I couldn't see the kid. I looked behind the door and he was
crouched there, trying to make himself as small as possible. He had his
school bag on over his shoulder and he looked ready to run. I didn't want
to cause him any more stress so I said, "I'm off now. Clear up the mess
you've made with that sandwich and lock up before you leave. I'll be back
in a couple of days. Be warned though, I'll have Major with me. Do you know
him?"

"Of course I do. He's the only one around here who lets me get anywhere
near him. That old lady at Lower Farm is the original Wicked Witch of the
West."

"Careful, kid, that's my aunt you're talking about. What's your name?"

"Joseph Street but most people call me Joey."

"Right, Joey, I'll see you around."

The next morning, I took some more food and fruit juice down to the cottage
but did not stay. I had things to do at my own house so I dropped the keys
into the architects office so he could take the builders and electricians
round the place, and warned him Joey might be hanging around and that it
was okay for him to do so, then I picked up my Dad, partly to give my aunts
a rest from his grouching, and partly because I wanted him to see my house,
and drove home. It only took half an hour using the motorways and we soon
pulled into the approach lane. To my surprise, the bus and Daley's car were
parked by the front door. Daley came out to greet me and we soon had Dad in
his chair and carried up the steps by Rob and Indian. The band gave him a
warm welcome and despite his initial aloofness, my dad soon became
engrossed in their discussion about various big bands, and when the weather
turned nasty, he calmly announced he would stay the night. Rob carried him
upstairs and put him to bed in what used to be Billy's room, and he smiled
up at me. "Nice bed. I could stay here a good few days I think, but your
aunts would have the screaming ab-dabs. Nice house, what I've seen of
it. Reminds me of Top Farm. Well, I don't know what you're doing standing
there for like a fish out of water. Get lost, I need my beauty
sleep. Breakfast in bed at eight-thirty sharp, mind."

"Yes, Dad." I left the room grinning and wondering just how much his lying
in bed at home was an excuse not to be fussed over my Aunt Mabel. He had
certainly perked up, the minute I suggested he came with me. It also made
me realise that his pretence, at being a crusty old goat in my younger
days, had in fact a cry from the heart of a lonely man. I just hadn't seen
it. Well, now I knew the score, I would make a home at the cottage for the
both of us. I just didn't want him to die from loneliness.

The only thing he complained about was the car as we drove home the next
day. "It's heap, and in my day we'd call it an old banger. You've got
enough money, why don't you buy a new one."

"Pure, sentimentality," I replied. "You have to admit, it's like driving in
an armchair. I've had a few adventures in it and I just hate the thought of
parting with it."

"Skinflint! Can't bear to part with your money."

"Not so, Dad. I have another car down in London. Billy bought it me for my
last birthday, but I've never really got used to driving it. I just use it
on the odd occasion when I'm down there but you can't very well take it to
some of these pop festivals, all mud and rain and stuff. As long as I can
keep this going, this will be my favourite old banger as you call it."

The builders moved into the cottage two weeks later, and it looked like
they would be in there right up to Christmas. Meanwhile I had work to do
with the band, including filming for another session with the `Later With
Jools Holland' show. That, and preparing my house for the band's annual
rest period, and keeping Dad happy and my aunts out of his hair, kept me
busy.

I went down to the cottage three weeks after I received the keys and found
myself hoping Joey would be there. There was no sign of him. The builders
had hacked off all the plaster and opened up the magnificent inglenook
fireplace and I gazed at it, imagining how it looked in my
great-grandfather's day, with horse brasses hung on the walls and logs
burning in the grate, before the curse of changing fashions hit the place
and converted it into a seventies time warp of colour washed walls in
yellow, terracotta and brown, and chip board furniture. I was never going
to have colour washed walls. I wanted the builders to bring out the beauty
of the stonework. The same with the floors, especially the tiny front
vestibule, that still boasted the original black and white Georgian
tiles. While not telling him why I wanted his opinion, I had already
sounded Dad out on what he would like to see done to it. Chintz
furnishings, dark bentwood furniture; and Billy's bed.

"Why the bed?"

"So I can visit sometime, you numbskull!"

"I just might bring it over for myself."

"In that case I'll have to keep my heavy Doc Martins handy."

"What for?"

"To boot you out, of course." Now I knew Dad was feeing better, back to his
crusty self

* *



When Joey didn`t make an appearance, I decide to find out if there was
anything wrong. For want of an excuse, I took some of my Jazz CDs with
me. There was a Mercedes parked in the driveway. I knocked on the door and
Joy's mother opened it. What a difference! She looked as if she had stepped
out of a beauty magazine. Her golden hair was piled up on top in immaculate
swirls, and her cream two-peace fitted her like a glove and showed off some
wonderful curves. She smiled a welcome and stepped back to let me in, and
waved me towards the lounge on the right. The ponderous bulk of a man in an
expensive Italian suit took up most of the space on the only settee in the
room, the smoke of his cigar heavy above him. We appraised each other and I
didn't like what I saw in his piggy eyes. Joey was nowhere to be seen and I
asked after him.

"He's not well," Mrs Street said. "He had a bad day a school yesterday so
I've kept him off today."

Either Joey hadn't her told about being suspended or she was lying. Surely
she must have known. These days schools notified parents by official
letter.

"Could I see him for a moment? I've brought something for him."

Again, she smiled at me but her eyes turned cold as ice. "Oh, really. In
that case I had better call him. Mr. Alton isn't it?" She didn't wait for
my reply and went back out into the hall. "Joey? Mr. Alton is here to see
you. Be a dear and come downstairs."

	I heard Joey's progress down the stairs, slow and hesitant, then he
appeared at the lounge door and I saw he was limping.

"Hi, Joey. I brought these for you." I held out the CDs. "I thought they
would help you with your dancing practice. One of them is a new CD my band
and I made six months ago." At once I sensed I had said the wrong
thing. Joey looked past me with fearful eyes. I looked over my shoulder at
his mother and saw her glaring at Joey and almost grinding her teeth, and
then she saw me looking at her and her face lit up with a smile. "How nice
of Mr. Alton. Say thank-you, Joey and take them up to your room. We'll have
a chat about them later."

I looked back at Joey and he gave me such a cold stare before shaking his
head ever so slightly. He accepted the CDs, thanked me in a hushed voice,
and limped up the stairs again. "How did he hurt himself?"

"Oh, the usual, you know what boys are like; he's so clumsy, falling over
his own feet all the time. Now, Mr. Alton, I'm such a bad hostess, I never
offered you coffee." Her smile was still fixed in place.

"No, thank you, Mrs. Street." I indicated the hall. "I need to get back to
my father, and I have things to do. Tell Joey I'll see him tomorrow. If
you'll excuse me, I'll let myself out." No way was that kid clumsy, I'd
seen that for myself when I watched hm dance.

Outside the house, I breathed the fresh air while alarm bells rang loud and
clear. All was not well at Top Farm.



* *

"I want you to make me you agent, Dad."

"What the hell for?"

We were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking our way through a huge pot
of tea. Aunt Cissy had gone shopping and Mabel was put on the farm
somewhere, so I could talk openly with Dad. "Something's going on up at Top
Farm and I want an excuse to get in there and take a look around."

"What are you on about?"

"Joy Street. Someone in that house is harming him and I want to find out
who and why."

"None of your business. He's just a trouble maker."

"I don't think so. I think it may be a case of self defence."

"He's the grandson of a friend of mine. Let him deal with it. I'll phone
him." The look on Dad's face made me think there was something he didn't
want to tell me.

"It's not just the kid, Dad. That woman has been having some strange
visitors lately; people in smart suits, driving big cars. You can't get up
there yourself as landlord to let me do it. The place must be up for
inspection any way. I don't suppose Cissy Mabs have had the time."

"I still don't like it, but okay, you are now my land and property agent,
but don't come back to me complaining of a broken nose. I know what that
lady can do."

"What can she do, Dad? You're holding back on me. Who is she?"

Dad waved my question away. "I don't want to talk about her any more."

* * *