“'Course I am, relax. It’s just shrooms, nature's finest mind expander, I’ve done this loads of times. Just ask Cozzie about the fun we had at the Grammys,” replied his friend. Jonny frowned.
“I already did and he said that part way through the evening everyone in the room transformed into giant reptiles.”
“Well that’s the Grammy crowd for you,” Ed smirked.
Jonny snorted loudly and tried again. “Look, Ed, I’m just not sure that a vision quest in a Tee Pee in Somerset is really me; come on, you know this new age, tree blessing, crystal rubbing, vision quest malarkey is a load of tosh.”
“I heard that, Greenwood!” called Thom, appearing suddenly at their side. “Are you dissing the Earth's ancient wisdom again?”
Jonny rolled his eyes. He and Thom had had this argument many times in anonymous hotel rooms and cramped tour buses. These discussions could be lengthy, but happily they were never hostile. Thom might enjoy exploring what he called alternative spiritual beliefs or what Jonny termed new age nonsense, but he also didn’t seem to mind his friend's more sceptical approach. Actually Jonny found Thom’s fascination with things like tree spirits and subterranean aliens rather reassuring. Thom saw so much of the painful truth in the world, saw its frailty, its hypocrisy, the inevitability of decay and loss. It had always worried Jonny that his friend couldn’t seem to stop that truth bleeding into him, filling him up with all its beauty and horror. Thom felt it all and he poured it all into his music. Thom saw the skull beneath the flesh. Maybe the faeries and vegetable telepathy helped with that. Jonny hoped so.
Thom was still rattling on, “... shamans have been using these techniques since the dawn of time, you know, and crystals can have amazing effects, my head's been feeling much better since I’ve been wearing my rose quartz. You can’t just call that tosh.”
Jonny decided to cut in, “They’re just rocks, Thom, rub them, meditate with them, hell, sing to them if you like; they are not going to do anything but... well, whatever rocks do. There is no scientific evidence whatsoever for crystal healing, hence my assertion that it is tosh. Furthermore,” he continued, “the idea that getting high is spiritually enlightening is clearly bollocks. You know perfectly well it’s nothing to do with tapping into ancient wisdom, it’s just random chemical reactions in the brain.”
The spiky haired singer pouted ferociously at his doubting bandmate. “Oh really, Mr Rational Enquirer? Well, how can you know it’s just bollocks if you’ve never tried it?”
Jonny looked to Ed for support but the taller man just shrugged. “He has a point Jonny. I always say don’t knock something till you try it, mate.”
Jonny could only sigh; it was clear neither of them was likely to share his concerns over the evening's programme. Leaving his friends trying to play something which sounded suspiciously like Phillipa Chicken on a wind chime, Jonny navigated his way around the assorted dream catchers and colourful strips of fabric hung from the tent's supports to seek out his brother.
“Cozzie, are you really going through with this lunacy?” he asked when he finally reached him.
The older Greenwood chuckled. “I don’t see the harm. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy' and all that; Thom thinks the band needs a spiritual rebirth and you know how he is once he gets a notion, it’s easier just to go with it. Anyway, it’s just one night, don’t worry so much.”
Jonny noted with resignation that Phil was already sitting cross-legged with Stanley and his so called ‘shaman’ friend trying out the tom-toms. Gesturing towards the trio, he asked, “Coz, where did you say Stanley found him?”
“Umm... in the visitors' car park at the Eden project. He works there in the summer, you know, directing traffic; in the winter he teaches circus skills and apparently he’s also a professional fire eater,” Cozzie replied.
“Gosh, a man of many talents. I was a bit worried about allowing just anyone to mess around with our brain chemistry, so it’s comforting to know we’re dealing with a professional,” snarked Jonny. The be-robed sage under discussion chose that moment to catch his eye, waving at him.
“Right there, lads>” he called with a grin.
Jonny smiled weakly in response. Cozzie patted his arm comfortingly, saying, “It’s OK if you don’t want to do this, we all know it’s not really your cup of tea. Thom’ll get over it - he usually does.” In truth, the more Jonny considered it the more he was sure he really didn’t want to do this. ‘I mean, what kind of name for a shaman is Dave Jenkins anyway?’ he asked himself. Sounded like some bloke who’d fix your central heating, not someone who’d guide you round the spirit realm. Cozzie was right; he could still back out, but then Thom would be disappointed and he really hated disappointing Thom, his mercurial, infuriating and brilliant best friend.
He looked up to find the subject of his musings gazing directly at him with an expression that was worried and pleading at the same time. The candlelight in the tent was casting shadows that softened the planes of Thom's face, turning his eyes storm coloured. ‘God, he’s beautiful. How can I refuse him anything?’ Jonny flinched in shock at where his mind had taken him. ‘What the hell? Where did that come from?’ he wondered. ‘Thom’s a bloke, he’s my best friend, we’re both straight.’ Shaking his head, he murmured to himself, ‘Get a grip Jonathan.’ Aloud he simply said, “All right, Yorke, let’s do this then,” firmly ignoring the treacherous tingle in his belly when he was rewarded with one of those wonderful Thom smiles. The kind of smile that seemed to have the power to make the lights dim and stars fall from the sky. A smile he knew he’d do almost anything to see directed at himself more often, even consuming questionable fungi in a giant patchouli-scented yurt. ‘But then, that’s the Thom effect, right?’ he reasoned. ‘Dragging us along behind him like the tail of a crazy kite. I mean, what wouldn’t we all do for Thom?' Suddenly he could hear his mother’s voice when he told her he was quitting Uni for the band. “Oh Good Lord, Jonathan, sometimes I think you really would jump off a bridge if Thom told you to!” Actually, he decided, then as now he was doing this for himself and the band, not for Thom at all - it was all about team building. OK, maybe he thought about Thom a lot, but then Thom was a big part of the band which frankly dominated all their lives. And so what if he enjoyed Thom’s company more than anyone else’s? They were best friends! It was normal to want to spend your free time with your best friend, even if you spent pretty much every waking moment of your work life with them too, right? After all, Cozzie and Ed spent their down time together. 'Right, no problem,' he told himself, ‘I am certainly not in any way, shape or form inappropriately obsessed with my best friend.’
Why was he even worrying about this? Probably just stress over the break up with Stephanie, he mused. It was never easy ending a relationship, even though he knew it had hurt her more than him when they parted. He winced inwardly as an image of her tearstained face flashed through his mind. He hadn't wanted to hurt her; she was bright, kind and fun to be with, he had cared a great deal for her, but somehow it had never made the leap from lover to beloved. In his darkest moments of introspection, the ones that pounced during the slow, sleepless haul from 3am to dawn, Jonny feared that he was incapable of love. OK, not incapable of loving; he loved his family, loved his friends but he had never fallen in love. At some point in every relationship he found himself at a cliff edge, the ground shifting under his feet and faced with the dizzying unknown. He had nowhere else to go but back, to retreat and pull away, leaving his lovers bereft and the relationship at an end. 'Was that it?' he wondered, a future of lacklustre relationships, watching his partners' faces crumple as he told them one after another, 'It's not you, really, it's me. I'm so, so sorry...' He smiled mirthlessly to himself. 'I can see my epitaph now - Jonathan Greenwood fond but not in love.' Sighing deeply, he shook his head to try to derail the maudlin track his thoughts had taken. 'Oh, come on, things aren't that bad now, are they?' All right, he was back staying in Thom's guest room after yet another failed romance, but it was only natural to lean on your friends after a break up; Thom was single at the moment, so it made sense for them to commiserate together. Glad to have gotten that firmly settled in his mind, Jonny joined the others who had formed a loose circle on the floor of the tent.
Part Two
The morning after the vision quest...
Yawning, Thom stretched, reached for the bedside alarm and hit the snooze button. Shit, must have been quite a night - he didn’t even remember coming back to the hotel and getting into bed. Wait a minute, what did he remember of last night? He remembered sharing a taxi from the hotel with Ed, talking about their plans for the break. Ed saying something about heading off after the quest to see that girl he’d met when they were recording in LA. What was her name - Suki or Saki? Something more exotic than her mid west origins would have suggested, anyway.
Cozzie had been giving Ed a hard time about her in the hotel before they left. “Oh come off it Ed, it’s hardly a meeting of minds, is it?”
“Sod off Coz, you’re just jealous because I scored a glamorous actress in LA and all you got was sunburned.”
“Actress, Edward? Her career highlight is shaking her bikini clad bootie in a Snoop Dog video, she’s hardly Judi Dench,” Cozzie had sneered.
“I’m telling you she’s not a bimbo, if you’d climbed down from your ivory tower long enough to talk to her you would have realised that.”
Thom giggled to himself, remembering the exchange. ‘Cozzie can be such an old woman at times.’ OK, so he remembered arriving at the field, being met by Stanley, then being in the tent talking to Ed and Jon. Then the actual ceremony; it had started with a crystal meditation, he giggled again as he remembered Jonny’s face when told he had to ask the crystal to guide his mind. Then drumming, then something about holding hands and being told to open up and let the energy of the group penetrate them; Ed saying if he’d known it was that sort of party he’d have brought lube which started them all off sniggering, then more drumming; then being offered a cup, but after that it was all a blank. So much for Stanley and his ‘trust me Thom, it’ll be the most incredible trip of your life’. What a gip! He’d be having words with bloody Stanley and his juggling wise man. Still, he supposed the evening hadn’t been a total waste. He figured things could have been worse; he’d been worried Jonny wouldn’t go through with it at all, as he normally didn’t have much time for spiritual beliefs of any kind, but in the end the bonds of friendship seemed to have overcome his reluctance.
Lying on his back, his eyes closed against the morning sunlight streaming into the room, he mused on how much Jonny’s friendship meant to him. Jon Jon, his best friend, the person who understood him better than any other. It was the band that had brought them together, kindred spirits from the moment they’d played the first note, but there was more to it than the music - he really couldn’t imagine any part of his life without Jonny.
Lowering his hand to rub his chest, he froze. What the...? Cupping his hand around soft flesh, he finally opened his eyes, looked down and lifted up the duvet. Dropping it immediately with a cry of “What the fuck!”, he realized his voice had changed as well. It was higher pitched than normal.“Okay, breathe, Thom, breathe...” he told himself. This was obviously not happening... he was still dreaming, that had to be it. He pinched his arm until he was sure he’d left a bruise, but nothing happened. It couldn't be, it just couldn't... he realized he was still cupping his... oh god, his breast! Thom's breathing sped up a little until he realized he was hyperventilating again and he forced himself back to something close to normal. There had to be a logical explanation!
Biting his lower lip, he knew there was one last thing to check. Thom reached down his own body, running his hand over his still flat but now hairless belly and on down between his legs. Eyes closed, a light whimper escaped him. Warmth... and... nothing, his fingers skimmed over light hair and a cleft that most definitely hadn't been there when he'd passed out last night. Finally throwing the covers back, Thom stumbled to his feet, swaying a little. Everything seemed... off somehow. He felt off balance and as he finally dared take a good look down at himself, he realized no matter how much he wanted it to be, this was no dream. Small pert breasts, soft curves that had previously been hard, flat lines... nothing was as it should be!
Fighting down the urge to be sick, he stumbled into the bathroom. Head swimming, he chanted: "I’m dreaming, that’s all, one of those really weird trapped in someone else’s body dreams, ok, too weird, I wanna wake up right now."
Standing in front of the mirror he groped for the light switch. “It’ll be fine, I’ll look and I’ll see me,” he murmured to himself. “I’ll laugh about scaring myself like this.” He flipped the switch and stood for a moment blinking in the harsh light flooding the bathroom. Finally clutching the sink in a death grip Thom raised his head and looked straight ahead into the mirror. An ice age passed as thoughts tried to assemble themselves only to be smashed on the rocks of the impossible image staring back at him.
His face, but not his face; still his eyes, same nose, same mouth but at the same time somehow alien. Shaking fingers traced a line over a stubble-free jaw, then across smooth full lips, everything somehow a little softer, more delicate, but still he thought... squint a bit and it’s me in the glass. He pulled at his hair and was still a little startled when the girl in the mirror copied him. It was still short and dyed the familiar red, but did it seem finer to the touch or was that just his imagination? Stepping back he could see small firm breasts protruding from a hairless chest, rosy nipples beginning to firm in the cooler air of the bathroom... the stranger in the mirror whimpered and Thom found his legs folding under him. He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat huddled on the cold tiled floor when an insistent and familiar pressure in his bladder brought the world crashing back. “I have to pee, I have to pee and I don’t have a penis." He said it out loud to see if it sounded less ridiculous than in his head. It didn’t, and he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, but settled instead on dragging himself to his feet. Thankfully his new body seemed to know what to do and bladder emptying was achieved without incident. In a strange way it finally made the situation real, such a mundane and basic act but not one that happened in dreams - at least not that he remembered.
Walking back to the bed, Thom curled up on the rumpled sheets. ‘What the fuck do I do now?’ he asked himself. ‘Maybe I’ve finally lost it, I’m wacko, I should just hide under the covers and live off room service forever, become a crazy old recluse and keep my urine in milk bottles.' Fighting down the panic that threatened to rise again, Thom finally forced himself to get dressed. Thank god he had one of Stipey's old shirts with him, because his ordinary, tighter t-shirts probably wouldn't have fitted. He needed to find someone to talk to... someone who'd listen and believe. Grabbing the phone, he dialled Jonny's room but got no answer. “Oh god, what if something had happened to Jonny... no, calm down, it’s really early... maybe he’s gone down to breakfast, he always was an early riser... or he could be in the shower, I can just wait and try again." Thom sat heavily on the bed, phone still in hand. What was he going to do? He needed to see someone right now to confirm this was happening and he hadn’t actually gone insane. He couldn't just call anyone - who'd believe him? - and... the thought of how embarrassing it would be...
Ed. Furiously punching in the number, Thom realized he shouldn't even try to explain any of this on the phone, because he was fairly sure Ed wouldn't just believe him. "Come on, pick up the phone, Ed, pick up the phone."
"Mm waazzt."
"Ed, would you come to... Thom's room right away?"
"Why... what... who is this?" Ed sounded worried and more than a little puzzled.
"A... a friend. Please, come right now - and don't tell anyone."
“OK, let me talk to Thom, right now.”
“Erm... look, he can’t come to the phone but he needs to see you right now.”
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't call hotel security?"
"Because it'd be... embarrassing to m... Thom." Ed sounded rather suspicious, but at last he agreed. Thom put down the phone and started pacing frantically back and forth in the small room only to be brought to a halt by the uncomfortable sensation radiating from his chest. It felt... really, really weird, having... breasts.
A knock on the door tore him from his thoughts. Thom scurried to the door and then paused, his hand on the release.
“Who’s there?” he called nervously.
“It’s me Ed, I’m here to see Thom.”
Thom took a deep breath and pulled open the door.
Part Three
10 minutes later, Thom was really regretting giving up so quickly on getting hold of Jonny.
“I mean fuck me, you’re a girl... seriously, it’s really you, Thom, right? It’s not like a joke, you really swear on your mother's life I’m not being Punk’d.”
“Yes, Ed, I swear, and for the 100th time no, you’re not being Punk’d and I really am Thom, you want me to tell the ‘E’s that turned out to be worming tablets story again?”
“No, it’s OK man, I know you’d never tell that story to anyone, that one's going to the grave right? Along with what was left of our trousers.” Ed winced at the memory. “OK. So it really is you.”
“Yes Ed, that’s right - it’s really me. Thom.”
“So what the fuck man, you’re a girl!”
Thom squeezed his - or should that be her - eyes shut. “Ed, you’re not helping.”
“What do you expect? This is going to take some getting used to. I mean come on, give me time to freak, OK? And how come you're not freaking?"
"I think you're doing enough freaking for both of us, Ed," Thom snapped. "You think it's hard on you? How hard do you think it is for me? I've got tits, for Christ’s sake! My voice is about an octave higher -" She was really building up a head of steam now, Ed recognised the start of a Thom tantrum "- and to cap it all, I've lost my fucking dick!"
“OK, OK, I’m sorry. I’m here for you, you know. I guess I’m just still kinda fuzzy from the shrooms... woo, I thought I’d seen some weird shit in my time but this totally tops it.” Ed grimaced.
Thom leapt up excitedly. “Of course, that must be it! The Vision Quest… I took a bunch of shit last night and that explains this, don’t you think?” Thom said hopefully.
“Whoa,” said Ed. “You think it could have been the shrooms? I mean, they can be pretty powerful, but I don’t know how they could change you into a woman.”
“... What the fuck... are you still high? Of course I don’t think mushroom tea can cause a sex change, Edward! What I’m saying is that maybe you’re not really here and I’m still tripping!” yelled Thom.
“Mmm,” Ed said thoughtfully. “Look, I know it’s possible - even probable - and I can certainly see why you’d rather believe we’re all still lying drooling in a Tee Pee, but... I dunno Thom, I don’t feel imaginary and I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have this bad a hangover if I was just your hallucination. Ooh, unless we’re both having the same trip! Remember that time we got high at Cozzie's and we both totally understood everything they were saying in that Fellini movie even though it was in Italian?”
“Ed, that movie had subtitles,” Thom growled.
“Oh yeah, right... but at the time we were both totally convinced we could speak Italian, is what I’m saying, so maybe now we both think you’re a woman but we’re just high.” Ed frowned and continued, “I mean, the trouble is this doesn’t feel like tripping to me; trust me, I know what high feels like and this isn’t it.”
“So what?” Thom insisted. “I’ve never done a vision quest before and neither have you, maybe it doesn’t feel like a normal high. So this could totally be a hallucination, right?”
“Well... yeah, I suppose so. I mean, the whole ceremony was about revealing our inner truths and finding our way forward, maybe this is your inner... err.” Ed faltered in the face of Thom’s arctic glare.
Through gritted teeth the small singer ground out, “Ed, I do not on any level want to be a woman. I love them and respect them and fear them like any normal man. And like any normal man I WANT MY PENIS BACK!”
“Right, right, of course you do,” said Ed soothingly. Suddenly he brightened. “Hey, Blackpool!”
“What?” snapped Thom.
“Remember that show went to see, the hypnotist guy... he had that one woman thinking she was a sea lion and that bloke thinking he’d just won Miss World. That’s another possibility, right, you and I have been hypnotised to think you’ve been changed into a woman.”
“Do you recall agreeing to be hypnotised recently, Edward? Because I sodding well don’t!” Thom yelled.
“I know,” Ed countered desperately. “That’s the point, those guys always make you forget you went to a hypnotist, while you’re under their suggestion.” Ed’s face creased with worry. “Hey, maybe we’re both being Punk’d... shit, we could be being taped right now!” Thom’s response was curtailed by a tentative knocking at the door.
“Oh shit, what do we do? We can’t let anyone see you,” yelped Ed.
“Ed, whoever it is, just get fucking rid of them,” Thom hissed. “I’ll hide in the bathroom.”
Just then a familiar voice was heard through the door. “Umm, hello, Thom... Ed.... it’s just us, are you in there?” Phil called hesitantly.
Ed coloured. “Sorry Thom, I bumped into Phil in the corridor this morning and told him where I was going.”
“What? But I asked you not to say anything!” whispered Thom.
“Yeah, I know, but come on; that call sounded pretty suspicious… I was worried you might be in trouble.”
More insistent knocking was followed by Jonny’s muffled voice drifting into the room. “Thom, are you OK in there? It’s, er, me, it's Jonny, could you open the door, we really need to talk to you...”
Thom slumped down onto the bed, cradling her head in her hands. “I give in. Open the door, Ed.”
Thom looked up as Phil and Jonny hurried into the room, crowded around a small dark-haired girl wrapped in Cozzie's ridiculously overpriced Gucci Mac.
“Who the hell’s that?” Thom demanded in a panic. The last thing she needed was to be seen by strangers right now. In the instant she spoke the strange girl looked up and wide shocked brown eyes met startled blue.
"Thom?”she gasped at about the same time as the shocked singer managed to squeak out, “Fuck me, is that you, Cozzie?”
The two groups stared at each other, open-mouthed. Jonny felt light-headed; it was as though all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. He’d been desperate to talk to Thom from the moment a near hysterical Cozzie had woken him, but now he didn’t know what to do, or what to feel. Far from being reassuring, the sight of his transformed best friend was discomfiting in ways he couldn’t explain.
‘Why is it suddenly so hard to breathe?’ he asked himself. ‘Well, your male best friend has turned into a girl,’ he thought, ‘a little shock is to be expected. But surely it’s no weirder than waking up to find your brother is now a sister, is it?’ Except that the way Thom’s nipples were obvious through the worn material of her t-shirt and the way she was worrying at her full soft lower lip was making Jonny feel things that were a lot weirder than anything Cozzie’s sex change had inspired.
Finally Phil broke the silence. “So, Thom’s a girl too! Blimey, I didn’t think today could get any odder,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Wowzza,” said Ed.
Reluctantly dragging his eyes from Colin's petite Gucci-wrapped form he continued, “ Whatever it is, I guess we all got whammied. Hope we got a group rate.”
“Er... group rate?” queried Phil.
“Ed thinks we’ve been hypnotised by Ashton Kutcher,” Thom snarked.
“Ah, really?” Four pairs of eyes locked upon Ed’s impressive denim clad figure.
“Err... I just said it’s a possibility, you know. We could have been set up, maybe not a Punk’d thing, but like a prank, maybe? We went to see that hypnotist guy in Blackpool in the summer. They could have planted the suggestion then. So now we’re all running around in a panic thinking Thom and Cozzie have been magically transformed into girls, they have hidden cameras in the hotel lobby, blah blah, big joke, you know...” Ed trailed off.
“I’m not laughing,” said Cozzie quietly. Jonny found his brothers hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Look, I think it’s pretty clear this is just some extremely odd mushroom induced trip. Right?” Jonny looked hopefully around the room for agreement. Ed frowned; in spite of the pleading looks his friend was giving him, he couldn’t completely agree.
“I guess, it’s just... doesn’t everything feel too normal for a dream?”
“Normal!” Thom shrieked, jumping back up from the bed. “I’m a woman, Ed, a fucking WOMAN!”
“OK, point taken,” Ed conceded, backing away from his livid bandmate. “Still, until we know differently, I think we have to assume we’re awake and act accordingly. I mean, if it is a dream, it won’t matter what we do, we could all jump off a cliff and be fine... but if we’re just crazy or, er, hypnotised then plunging 100 ft onto jagged rocks would be less good.”
“Actually,” Phil interjected, “I spent quite a while talking to Dave last night, and from what I gathered those undertaking a truth quest don’t feel that they are dreaming. That’s the point, really, to make you act as you truly would in the real world, so the fact we feel completely awake doesn’t tell us anything.”
Ed rubbed his hand across his face and continued. “Christ, I don’t know, maybe we need to find out more about this ritual? I mean, Stanley and his friend were the ones who put the whole thing together.”
“Yes, we thought of that too,” sighed Jonny. “Phil tried Stanley’s mobile but it’s switched off and we don’t have his shaman's number. Of course, assuming we’re in the dream realm, that won’t help, because they’ll just be dream Stanley and dream shaman Dave, who’ll only know what we do.”
“Oh yeah, right.” Ed scratched his head. He was really wishing he’d paid more attention the night before. “OK, so if we accept that even though we feel totally awake we’re dreaming, then if we just wait here, in a few hours we’ll wake up and problem solved, right?”
“Yeah,” said Thom, brightening instantly, “it’s already been a couple of hours since I woke up, and the most we’re likely to stay under before someone wakes us is another 6 or 7 hours. We’ll be back to normal by teatime.”
“Umm,” said Phil, “actually... no. While questing there’s no way to measure how much real time has passed. In fact, a hundred years can pass in the vision whilst only a second has elapsed in the real world. The quest takes as long as it takes and you only leave the dream realm when you’ve learned what you needed to know.”
“So I’m stuck like this?” whispered Cozzie in horror, gesturing at her newly feminine form.
Phil nodded. “I’m afraid so, we’re all stuck in the dream world... at least until we figure out what the vision is trying to teach us. Dave was quite clear about that - we have to let the dream unfold, no shortcuts, no emergency exits. Sorry.”
“So we definitely can’t click our heels together and say there’s no place like home then?” frowned Jonny.
“Doesn’t seem like it, no,” Phil replied. “Of course, that does leave the question of who’s dreaming this, and does that mean the rest of us are just constructs of that person’s imagination?”
“Well, I’m definitely real,” said Thom quickly.
“Yeah, me too,” declared Ed. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I am, I don’t have any gaps in my memory and I remember lots of stuff that didn’t involve the rest of you.”
“Ditto,” said Jonny and Coz together.
“So, then, are we somehow sharing one vision?” mused Phil. “Could the dream realm be akin to a kind of collective unconscious? Hmm... I don’t suppose it matters really; the bottom line is we’re stuck here until we figure out what the vision is trying to tell us.”
Thom slammed a fist against the wall. “Bollocks to that. I want out right now! There has to be a way to wake up. No way am I spending another day in this fucked up dream.” Jumping up and down and waving her arms with her gaze fixed firmly on the ceiling Thom began yelling at the top of her still considerable voice, “OY STANLEY, DAVE, WE’RE TRAPPED, WE WANT TO WAKE UP!” They waited; there was a resounding lack of any change. “STANLEY, YOU WANKER, I WANT TO WAKE UP”…“I MEAN IT, WAKE ME UP, RIGHT FUCKING NOW!” Still nothing.
Thom took a deep breath but before she could do anything with it, Phil interrupted. “Thom, I really don’t think that’s helping.”
“Oh really,” snapped Thom. “So what do you suggest? I mean, what the hell are we supposed to do? It’s not like we can spend the rest of our lives hiding in this hotel room trying to figure out the meaning of life.”
From her perch on the corner of the bed Colin groaned, “Thom’s right. If the vision needs to play out, we can’t stay in here forever. What about our families? Our friends? Oh god, even the press... what do we say? ‘Ooh, surprise everybody, Thom and I decided to get sex changes for Christmas!’” Cozzie looked imploringly at her brother. “What are we going to say to mum? She’s expecting us for dinner on Sunday and I… oh, Jonny, just look at me.” Cozzie finally surrendered to her misery and let the tears come. Jonny could only envelop his newly feminine sibling in a bear hug and hold on until the sobs quietened.
Thom bit her lip and wiped furiously at her eyes. You will not cry, you will not cry, she chanted to herself. You’re the leader of the band, think of calm things, you have to hold it together… but in truth she realised she wanted nothing more than to give in, dissolve in a heap and have Jonny rock her in his arms as he was doing to Cozzie. After a moment Ed sat awkwardly on the bed, patting Cozzie’s back and saying, “Look, Cozzie, it’s OK, whatever it is we’re supposed to figure out in the quest, we’ll figure it out together, right?" He looked to the others and received mumbled assents. “In the meantime we’ll just tell everyone we’re still busy working on the next album and don’t wish to be disturbed. If the press start sniffing around we can always start uploading our old photos on the website to keep people distracted.”
The rest of the morning was spent going round in circles. No one could think of anything really useful to add, and in the end Thom simply declared that, real, dream or hallucination, she was going home.
Her band mates exchanged worried glances as Thom began stuffing clothes in a battered green holdall. Ed tried first. "Thom, be reasonable,” he implored. “You can’t just sod off home and ignore this.”
“Why not? It’s just a dream, right? It can’t matter much what I do,” she snapped.
“That may be the case,” interjected Phil, “but we started the dream quest together, so it’s possible we may need to be together to work it out.”
“Says who? None of us has a clue about what to do to sort this out, so why not carry on as planned? You can head back to your family, Ed can push off to LA and the rest of us can go home.” Cozzie looked up at this. “Actually, right now going home sounds pretty good to me too.”
“Look,” said Phil firmly, “if you want to go home, that’s fine, but I don’t think either of you should be heading off anywhere alone. What if you get into trouble, how will you prove who you are?”
“Phil’s right,” Jonny cut in. “What if you get pulled over? Neither of you exactly match the pictures on your driving licences at the moment.”
Thom finally paused in her frenzied packing. “Fine, what do you suggest?”
After some wrangling it was agreed that Phil would head home to his family whilst Ed would drop Cozzie home on his way back to London and Jonny would drive Thom down to his place in Cornwall. Jonny had not been happy to leave Cozzie’s side but his older sibling had refused to be swayed. “Jon, stop fretting, I’ll be fine, Phil’s a 10-minute drive from me and you’re only a phone call away. Honestly, I could use some time alone. I’ve got all the submissions for the Whitting Poetry Competition to go through and I promised Jeff I’d read through Maggie’s manuscript before they get back from Rouen. That lot should keep me occupied for at least a week.”
Jonny frowned. “No, Coz, I still don’t like the idea of you being by yourself.”
“Umm... I could stick around for a few days, if you like, I mean just till you get settled,” Ed had offered.
“I thought you had a bootie call waiting in LA?” said Cozzie.
Ed blushed. “Uh, yeah, but she’ll understand. I mean she’s only a dream girl anyway. I don’t think it would work out in the real world either, to be honest - she’s in the States and I mean, I love it over there but my home's here with you… er, with the band, I mean.”
Thom had been as gracious about Jonny’s offer to keep him company as might be expected.
“Christ, you’re a right bunch of mother hens. Of course I don’t need anyone to stay with me, why would I? It’s my fucking house after all and it’s not like I’ve never lived alone. I’ll be glad when you’ve all sodded off so I can get some peace.” Thom was doing her best to appear defiant and if the performance had been for anyone but him it might even have worked. But Jonny was an expert Thom watcher; he knew each scowl and fidget by heart. He automatically translated Thom’s arrogantly sneered dismissal as, ‘I’m scared and miserable but refuse to act anything but nonchalant because I’m Thom Yorke and I don’t need anyone and fuck you if you think I do.’
Jonny scuffed his shoe on the carpet; he knew he couldn’t bear to let Thom out of his sight, but couldn’t really explain to himself why it was so important that he be the one to go with Thom, so what chance did he have of making anyone else understand it? Was he doing the right thing, should he really abandon his beloved broth... sister to the tender mercies of Edward O’Brien? No, he thought, that’s not fair. In fact Ed had been brilliant, cancelling his trip to LA just to stick around and support his friends. Jonny was pretty sure Ed had blown his chances with Suki, goddess of revealing swimwear, in the process. "No greater love hath any man but that he gives up a thong-wearing playmate for his friends,” he mused.
Jonny decided to forgo explanations. “I’m coming with you, Thom. If you don’t like it, too bad. I’ll be waiting downstairs.”
Later that day they gathered in the hotel car park to say their goodbyes. Hugging Jonny tightly, Coz simply said, “Call me when you get there.”
Ed went to hug Thom, but unsure of where he could safely put his hands he settled for ruffling his smaller friend's hair, saying, “Hang in there squirt, we’ll figure it out.”
Thom glowered. “Get off me, you wanker,” she growled in response and batted his hand away in annoyance. Ed merely grinned at Jonny, and mouthed, ‘good luck, you’ll need it’.
The drive was uneventful; Thom had grunted something about trying to sleep and had spent the journey curled up against the window with her face resting on a balled up jacket. Jonny assumed his friend was still sulking about getting a ‘babysitter’ and didn’t press the issue. They made good time and it was only just dark when he turned off the main coast road towards their destination. Thom’s sea side retreat was a rambling Edwardian house, standing alone on a rocky Cornish headland. It was much too big for one person, Jonny reflected, but then Thom had always said he’d bought it more as a place for his friends to hang out than as for somewhere to live. Over the years Thom had moaned endlessly about the upkeep; saying he should sell it to be rid of the hassle. He claimed that something in the old place always needed fixing and he was sure one winter soon the whole thing would collapse into the waves. Jonny smiled to himself; they both knew that for all his complaining Thom would never willingly part with the house. Something in the jagged windswept cliffs and roiling seas of the Atlantic coast seemed to soothe his troubled friend in ways urban sprawl and sunnier climes never could. Maybe because here his surroundings finally matched the storm within. Whatever the reason, Jonny was glad Thom had found a refuge here. For himself, he’d adored the old heap from the moment Thom had dragged him inside babbling excitedly about original features and the restless spirits of former occupants long since drowned. He loved its peeling paintwork and creaky stairwells, its haunted attics and banisters worn smooth by countless trailing hands. He loved its Thomness.
Jonny was drawn from his musings by a yawn from his companion. “So are we staying in the car all night or are we going in?”
Jonny moved into his usual room and the next few days passed more easily than he could have expected. In fact they’d settled into their usual downtime routine as though nothing was different. Breakfast in the kitchen; juice and toast for Jonny, coffee and grapefruit for Thom; then reading together in the garden if it was nice, in the lounge if it wasn’t. Lolling on the floor watching bad TV movies and old Sci-Fi shows, talking about the music they’d fallen in love with most recently and wanted each other to hear. He spoke to Cozzie every day and Thom would sit pressed against him on the sofa, interrupting and occasionally stealing the phone. It seemed Ed hadn’t gone on to London after all and Jonny got the impression that for all the earlier protestations Cozzie appreciated the company. Naturally they all continued trying to puzzle out the meaning of the quest, but Jonny found that sometimes he would go hours without thinking about it; he found himself entertaining silly daydreams of hiding in this house by the sea with Thom forever. This altered reality had begun to seem normal and even pleasant. He knew that it couldn’t last, that eventually they would have to leave their little bubble, but he was wary of pushing Thom.
The Saturday after they had left the others was grey and cool, so after breakfast they had opted to stay cocooned in the warmth of the kitchen drinking tea and reading. Jonny soon noticed his friend had abandoned her own book, and was staring out at the road, distractedly chewing her fingers, something clearly on her mind. After a few minutes watching her fidget, he cautiously asked, “Thom, something up?”
She shrugged and sighed. “I don’t know, it’s nothing really, I just... I feel restless all the time, like there’s something I should be doing or that I’ve forgotten, but I’m not sure what, you know?”
Jonny tucked some raven strands behind his ear and replied thoughtfully, “Well, we’ve been stuck around the house a while; how would you feel about going out for a bit, into town maybe?”
Thom turned to face him, shaking her head violently. “Town? Are you crazy? I can’t, what if someone sees me?” she exclaimed. She was looking at Jonny as though he had suggested that she try flying off the roof and he almost backed down but something stopped him.
“Well, what if they do?” he reasoned gently. “I don’t think anyone is likely to recognise you as Thom Yorke of Radiohead, right?” Thom’s eyes widened with surprise; she looked as though she honestly hadn’t considered this possibility, and then suddenly her face brightened and she laughed, nodding. “I guess, this is a pretty good disguise.”
Jonny let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding and grinned. “Definitely, much more effective than dark glasses,” he agreed.
An hour later Thom sat in the car tugging absently at her seatbelt, her stomach filled with butterflies. ‘I can’t believe I’m this nervous about going shopping,’ she thought. ‘I mean, Jonny’s right, it’s not like anyone will know who I am. For the first time in years I get to be no one.’
They’d decided to drive into a nearby seaside town, not the most cosmopolitan shopping centre, but there was a vegetarian café Thom liked near the high street. After a simple lunch of veggie Tikka Masala they made their way to the town's only department store. Thom had wanted to get some basics, tops, jeans and jumpers, but she’d decided to start with underwear “to get it over with”, as she’d said to Jonny. She wasn’t exactly Jordan in the chest area but she had definitely started to feel the need for a little support when running up stairs. As they waited for the lift, Thom began anxiously biting at her nails. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea... I mean, my old clothes still fit OK, I don’t even know what size I am in girl clothes.” Jonny took her hand and smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “It’ll be fine, how different can jeans and t-shirts be? Anyway, fashion's pretty unisex these days. I mean, remember when we were at school I used to get lots of my favourite tops from Miss Selfridge.”
“Yes, Jon,” said Thom. “That was one of the main reasons why everyone started calling you and Coz the ‘Greenwood Sisters’, remember? Well that and Cozzie's penchant for bodystockings and snogging the rugger team at parties,” she muttered. “So here we are; Third Floor women’s lingerie,” said Thom grimly, as she started poking half heartedly at the rails of colourful bras.
“God, I feel like a total pervert riffling through this stuff and how the hell do I work out what size I need?” Thom held a plain cream satin number against herself and tried to fit the cups over her T-shirt covered breasts. “Hmm... 34C seems a bit generous, maybe the next size down, oh bugger it, I suppose I’ll just have to take a load and try them on. Jonny, help me look for some 34As or Bs.”
Jonny had picked up a rather colourful piece. “Is this alright?” he asked, holding it against himself. Before Thom could respond, she heard a squeal from behind her. A young woman with vermillion streaked hair was staring at the younger Greenwood with an expression Thom normally associated with dogs looking at raw steak. She brushed past Thom without a second glance, at the same time managing to wet her lips and pull her top lower, which Thom had to admit was impressively fast work even as she fought the urge to stick a foot out and trip the little hussy up. “Oh my god, you’re Jonny Greenwood, I’m such a huge fan, I saw you live at Hammersmith, it was the best show ever.” The gushing stalled as wide eyes focused on the lacy red wonderbra he was modelling against his chest.
“Um, yes, hello, right, thanks.” Jonny had gone an interesting shade of fuchsia; he dropped the offending item back onto the pile as though it was on fire. “Just, er, looking for a present for my, er, mum,” he stammered.
Five minutes later Thom was still breathless with laughter. “Your mum...” she broke off in another fit of giggles, “... is there something about your family life you need to tell me?”
“Oh god, I panicked, Thom... that really wasn’t funny,” he moaned.
“Oh, Jon, it really was,” Thom sniggered. “But maybe you should meet me upstairs in the coffee shop in a couple of hours. If too many people spot you in the ladieswear, the NME will have a field day.”
Sometime later…
Thom was trying not to fidget with it, but bollocks to Eva Wassername because Wonderbras were just plain uncomfortable. No matter how she tried to wriggle it round, the wire dug into her breastbone and the straps pulled on her shoulders. And what was with women’s jeans? It was like they were designed to chafe. Why did they have to cut right up against the crotch? What was wrong with giving your privates a bit of room to breathe? The boxers would have to go; they kept bunching up, causing a severe case of VPL in the thin denim... but oh god, that was the final straw, the final shred of masculinity being torn away: girly knickers. Fucking VPL; he’d never had this problem as a man.
After a full 3 hours of shopping Thom had come to the conclusion that the world of fashion was run by a twisted cabal of misogynistic perverts. How else could one explain the continued existence of push-up bras, micro minis, hotpants, thongs and pointy-toed stilettos as fashion items for women, whilst male fashion trends dictated the wearing of baggy jeans, tee shirts and comfy trainers every single day? Of course boxers would be OK under a skirt, but trying on anything other than trousers had made Thom feel like a tranny, so jeans it was. Maybe cargo pants would be roomier? She steeled herself to call one of the perky prepubescent assistants back yet again.
Part Four
On escaping the lingerie department, Jonny had felt the need for something to soothe his frayed nerves, so he headed for the little town’s only record store. Two hours of browsing the racks had left him a hundred quid poorer but considerably calmer. So it was in a fairly peaceable state of mind that he entered the coffee shop to meet Thom. He spotted her spiky red crop immediately and hurried over to her table, but as he reached her his greeting died on his lips.
“Hey, Jon,” Thom said nervously. “So... the new me.” She gestured towards herself. “What do you think?”
Jonny opened his mouth and closed it again. His brain seemed to be locked in a repeating pattern that went something like, "Thom’s in a dress, bloody hell. Thom has cleavage and legs! OK, shit, I need to stop looking at her cleavage and legs and say something intelligent quick, but wow, seriously, Thom has cleavage and legs... actually Thom has a great cleavage and really fantastic legs... I wonder, are those tights or stockings? I might be able to tell if she’d cross her legs... oh bollocks... she’s looking at me, say something."
“Er, it’s, well, it’s a, umm, it’s a you know, it’s certainly an, umm, a dress,” Jonny stuttered finally.
Thom’s face fell. “Right,” she said, “it’s shit, isn’t it? I knew I should have told that assistant to bugger off when she suggested it. No biggie, I’ll chuck it when we get home.”
She swallowed and Jonny thought she looked close to tears. Instinctively he slid into the booth beside her and grabbed her hand. “No, god, I’m sorry. I’m useless with this stuff, ask any of my former girlfriends. Don’t get rid of it, you look brilliant, it’s really sex... umm, I mean nice, a really nice dress. You should definitely keep it.” He smiled, hoping he’d said the right thing without sounding like a man who a few moments ago had been totally perving on his best friend.
Thom sniffed and shrugged. “Well, OK, if you really think it’s alright, I’ll keep it.” She glanced down at her chest. “Whoa, I can’t get over how much closer they look since I got this bra.” She started bouncing in her seat. “And look at that, Jonny, it’s got great hold, they hardly jiggle at all!” Jonny smiled wanly and pressed the Sound Waves Records bag more firmly over his increasing uncomfortable groin.
“Definitely, almost jiggle free,” he agreed. To Jonny’s relief any further demonstrations of the bra’s abilities were interrupted by an elderly waitress arriving to take their order. Their request for Fair Trade beverages was met with friendly incomprehension. “I don’t think we has any of that, my dears, but there’s a pot of tea and hot buttered crumpets for two as the afternoon special.”
Thom shrugged. “I am a bit peckish, you want to stay here, Jonny?”Jonny acquiesced; he was in no hurry to get up and reveal his semi-aroused state. As if she’d read his mind Thom suddenly focused on his lap.
“So what are you hiding there then?”
“Umm, what? Nothing,” he replied guiltily, “nothing at all, really.”
Thom frowned. “Doesn’t look like nothing,” she pouted, “it looks like someone has been having fun in the vinyl section without me.”
“Oh! The records, yes... I went to that second hand place by the arcade. Picked up some Trojan stuff.”
Thom raised an eyebrow. “More reggae? Should we all start growing dreads for the next record or what? Seriously, Jon, how many reggae albums have you got now, anyway?”
Jonny pretended to be affronted. “Well, that’s rich coming from Thom ‘I ordered Warp’s entire back catalogue in an afternoon’ Yorke. You of all people should know there’s no such thing as too many records and anyway, it’s sort of research," he countered.
Thom nodded. “Yeah right, research. So, you’re really serious about the curating thing for Trojan?”
“Maybe, if I think I can do it justice, we’ll see.” Jonny shrugged. “I could do you a playlist of my picks so far, so you can let me know if I’m going to embarrass myself?”
"Sure," she replied. “I can listen but I don’t know much about reggae and my opinion doesn’t mean much anyway.”
“It does to me. Your opinion always matters to me, it matters a great deal,” Jonny insisted. Their eyes met; Thom looked surprised.
“Really? Thanks, Jon," she murmured. "Same here... I mean, I’d take your opinion over my own any day.” Jonny blushed and looked at the floor and the embarrassed silence was only broken by the arrival of the food.
“Damn crumpets, I’d forgotten how messy they are,” Thom complained, wiping at the melted butter dripping down her chin. Jonny was also cursing their choice of snack. Why couldn’t the afternoon special have been scones or rock cakes? he thought miserably. Watching Thom’s small pink tongue darting out to lick over her shiny butter smeared lips was bad enough but to add insult to injury she ignored the napkin he offered her in favour of cleaning the grease from her fingers with her tongue as well. He tried, he really did, but it was impossible to stop his mind wandering to what that tongue would feel like flicking over his own lips, sucking on his own fingers or even swirling around the head of his...
“Jonny, are you OK?” Thom was looking at him with concern.
“What? Yes, fine, why do you ask?” he replied.
“Oh, it’s just you look a bit hot and you moaned just then,” she answered. Jonny cringed and mumbled something about the food being a bit greasy for him. Thom seemed to accept his excuse. “Great more crumpets for me, then,” she said, reaching for his plate.
By the time she’d cleared both plates Jonny’s breathing was decidedly unsteady and his trousers were more than a little tight. “Ok, I need to get a grip before she notices something,” he thought desperately. Jonny sipped his tea and tried to will away his erection. “I just need to think unsexy thoughts, umm... think about mummy, mummy at home in the kitchen, mummy’s raspberry jam, Thom naked and smeared with jam... damn! OK, brain, I said I need unsexy thoughts, thoughts that don’t involve Thom smeared with condiments, err... how about naked Phil, good one! OK, what else, naked George Bush doing a pole dance, euggh, well that did the trick.” Jonny grimaced to himself. “Only problem is now I need to take my brain out and scrub it.”
Oblivious to Jonny’s mental wrangling, Thom was idly fiddling with her knife. Without looking up, she asked, “Do you think we could go down to the beach while we’re here?”
“I don’t see why not, it won’t be dark for a while yet,” Jonny agreed. He looked around. “Actually I think this place is getting ready to close. We should get going, if you want to get onto the beach while it’s light.”
Thom nodded and stood up. “OK, then, I’m just going to run into the loo and pull my jeans back on before we head off.”
Left alone, Jonny was forced to come to terms with his disturbing reaction to his friend’s female persona. In truth he realised this was not the first time in the past week that Thom had stirred a heated reaction in him. From the moment he’d laid eyes on girl Thom he’d found himself physically drawn to her. From full soft lips to damaged eye, from skinny wrists to that long pale neck, he realised there was simply no part of her he didn’t find excruciatingly sexy. Even the way she smelt a mix of jasmine and patchouli body wash with musky Thomness underneath was like pure sex to him. It was one of the reasons he loved swapping t-shirts with Thom on tour, to have something infused with that unique scent against his own body. Jonny’s train of thought screeched to a halt. “Wait a minute, Thom wasn’t a girl when we swapped shirts. Did I just admit I like smelling another bloke?” Jonny drained the rest of his lukewarm tea in one gulp. “This vision quest must be starting to mess with my mind, that’s all. I’m getting mixed up, best to just get on with things and stop dwelling,” he decided. Feeling pleased with his new resolve to ‘just not think about it’, he signalled the waitress over and asked for the bill.
When Thom returned wrapped up in a long sleeved t-shirt and jeans, Jonny felt he had regained enough composure to leave the booth and they gathered their bags and headed for the car.
Records and clothing purchases safely stowed in the boot, they walked down to the seafront and the mostly deserted beach
Part Five
As they walked, Jonny stole quick glances at his companion. There was no denying that the woman at his side displayed all the mannerisms and idiosyncrasies that he had come to love and expect over the years from his very male best friend. Thom's hands still moved expressively as she talked, her eyes shone with the same fierce intelligence, she still fidgeted like a hyperactive four year old as she waited for Jonny to reply to a question. Ooops, a question he realised he hadn't heard because he’d been so intent on trying to catch glimpses of his Thom in the familiar stranger beside him.
"Jonny, are you even listening to what I'm saying?" Thom asked, her brow wrinkling in annoyance as she realized Jonny clearly wasn't.
"Sorry Thom, it's a lot to take in sometimes. I can't stop looking at you, I mean it's you, and yet it's so not you," Jonny gave a sad little smile.
Thom sighed and nodded, “Yeah I know what you mean; I still jump a little every time I catch sight of my reflection when I’m not expecting it.”
When they reached the beach Thom insisted on running right down to the water. She grabbed Jonny’s hand and tugged him closer daring the waves, laughing each time they were forced to jump back from the foam. “Thomas Yorke you really are just a big kid as soon as you see the sea”, Jonny grinned
“Oh yeah and you’re Mr Mature, or is that someone else’s Harry Potter t-shirt, you’re wearing” Thom teased in reply.
As he watched Thom, scooping up shining pebbles, eyes bright and cheeks rosy from the wind, Johnny found himself reminiscing about past trips to the beach. In particular he found his thoughts drifting to the summer Thom had decided to convert his landlubber bandmates to the joys of surf. Phil had said he had better things to do, namely wooing some girl who worked behind the pick n mix counter in Woolworths. But the rest of them had squeezed into Ed’s battered Fiesta and headed for Cornwall’s rugged north coast in search of waves. He smiled to himself as images of that weekend ran through his mind.
Cue flashback insert wobbly lines etc..many years ago…
Jonny winced and began wriggling, rubbing jutting shoulder blades against the fiestas lumpy backseat. The car was stuffy and he’d been cooped up in it all day but at this moment he’d rather risk cramp than join the others. His band mates were standing by the side of the car pouring over a map spread on the bonnet and no-one was smiling.
Cozzie began drumming his fingers against the bonnet, “So Thomas, say again how exactly did you & your cousin get to this magical cove?”
“I told you already we hiked along the coastpath.” Thom growled
“The coastpath, “Cozzie repeated with grim relish “A path along the coast designed for walkers, ramblers and other bipedal pedestrians but generally Thom I put it to you, generally not suitable for a Ford fucking Fiesta.”
Ed ran a hand across his face “There’s no fucking road is there!” he groaned
“There is a fucking road” Thom snapped back “and we’re on it, Ben and I walked along this road on our way back from the pub”.
“Yeah and just how pissed were you?” said Ed “because I can’t see a turning down to the beach anywhere on the map”
“Sod off, I remembered the road running right by it, we just walked down a little slope and we were back at our tents. I guess it seemed closer in the dark.”
The three stared at the scrubby field stretching towards the cliff top, where Thom’s perfect campsite lay. Ed slumped back against the car.
“What?” said Thom” it’s just the other side of the field, the gateways big enough, just drive around the mounds it’ll be fine”.
Ed “ Yeah, no problem I’ll just flip the off road switch, oh wait I don’t have one!”
Thom shrugged “Look we’re here now so if Ed’s too much of a girl to drive across a bit of grass it wont take that long to lug everything across from here”.
An hour later….
Dropping the last bag onto the pile Thom looked around to see the others gazing out towards the horizon. Even this late in the afternoon the sun was blazing and sky and sea remained a glorious Mediterranean blue. The scene was set off perfectly by the fresh summer green of the ferns and bight pink of the foxgloves on the Cliffside. He grinned “Told you it’d be worth it.” And for once even Cozzie didn’t seem inclined to argue.
After taking his fill of the view Thom smacked Jonny on the arm “I’m gonna build a fire” he declared “first job collect driftwood, come on”.
So leaving a grumbling Ed and Cozzie to take charge of pitching the tents Jonny stumbled after Thom who was already reeling off a list of instructions “mind out for tar, don’t pick up stuff if it’s wet, try to get bits near the cliff where the tide can’t reach”
Much later they all settled down by what Coz grudgingly admitted was an impressive fire and began passing round cheap cider and half full bottles of whatever they’d managed to swipe from parents drinks cabinets.
Jonny sat quietly taking small sips & trying not to grimace at the taste of whatever came past. Ed wasted no time in rolling up, claiming this was genuine ‘White Widow’, Jonny thought the name was rather morbid but Thom seemed impressed and he and Coz were soon lost in a haze of smoke. As they became more animated Jonny lost track of the older boys conversations but from what he could follow he discerned that Thom felt anarcho syndicalism was a good thing, Ed was quite certain history had not come to an end, Cozzie suspected god was improbable and unprovable, they all agreed that freedom was certainly impossible under capitalism and possibly impossible all together and finally post modernism was either irrelevant or had made everything else so.
Jonny didn’t really mind that the others full of pot, books and college seemed to have forgotten him; truthfully he was grateful just to be there, one of the gang.
The warmth of the fire and comforting hubbub of his friends was starting to lull him to sleep when he was nudged back to full consciousness by an oversized foot. He looked up to find Ed proffering the one of the aforementioned joints. But before he could decide what to do with it, a horrified looking Cozzie slapped Ed’s hand down.
Ed looked bemused “What’s the problem he’s the same age we were the first time we smoked?”
“Yeah, don’t be such such a wet blanket, Coz” Thom agreed “if he wants a smoke let him.”
Cozzie rolled his eyes, “Hello, this is Jonny, Jonny who got wasted on two babyshams last Christmas.”
Thom simply poked his tongue out at Cozzie and reached across to take the joint from Ed. Turing to Jonny with a smirk he drawled out “So Jonny what do you say are you still too much of an ickle baby for a toke?” Jonny stared, unsure of how to react.
Cozzie shook his head in disgust “Fine Thom but remember he’s sharing your tent when he pukes.”
A still grinning Thom passed Jonny the joint, Ed chipping in with “Hold the breath, let it stay in your lungs a while, better buzz that way.”
Jonny had nodded, inhaled deeply as he’d seen the others do and immediately regretted it. The smoke was hot and acrid in his mouth and the taste was even more nauseating than the smell. He felt his throat and chest spasm and he doubled up spluttering helplessly. In the midst of his coughing fit he heard laughing, he looked up to see Cozzie smugly holding out a hand “See I knew you wouldn’t like it..give it here.”
Jonny shook his head “I’m fine..” he took another shallow drag desperate to prove Cozzie wrong, to prove he wasn’t a silly kid anymore. It was no use, it still tasted revolting and he felt his stomach turn, feeling sick and dizzy with his eyes watering and throat burning, he wondered what part of this was supposed to be fun?
Suddenly he felt a hand brush his arm, and then deft fingers were prising the burning cigarette from his, he turned to see Thom gazing at him from under hooded lids.
“It’s foul right?” Thom grinned “You should have seen me my first time I actually went green but trust me it gets better” Thom giggled at Jonny’s disbelieving expression, “You should try a blowback maybe, it’s a gentler buzz when you’re getting used to it”.
Without waiting for a reply Thom scooted closer, so close Jonny could feel his friend’s body heat through the thin denim of his jeans. Jonny stayed frozen as Thom pressed the joint between his own lips and took a deep drag, eyes closed, neck arching, then without exhaling he leaned over and took Jonny’s chin in one hand. Jonny watched transfixed as his friend leaned in, closer and closer, a thumb brushing at his lower lip urging him to open his mouth, for a bizarre moment Jonny thought ‘he’s going to kiss me, my first kiss’ but then Thom opened his mouth and Jonny found he was breathing in pungent smoke, this time tempered and sweetened somehow by his friends breath.
After that there was no stopping him and as the booze and dope worked their magic Jonny had become braver or perhaps stupider unabashedly staring at Thom, watching the embers reflected in his eyes, the shapes his full lips formed as he outlined plans for the band and their assured futures as musical superstars. And as he stared at his older brothers best mate a realisation formed in Jonny’s slightly foggy mind. Jonny realised that Thom wasn’t just a super brilliant singer, who wrote songs even betterer than Elvis Costello, Thom was the most amazingest, bestest person in the world ever, ever, ever and Jonny would do anything for him, anything.
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