Short Story: The Death of Weston Starr

4th January

He’s gone quiet now but he was terrible rowdy when Keith bundled him in. I said to Keith to take the blanket off his head to stop him running into my wallpaper but Keith didn’t listen. He nearly went over the bannister on the way up.

He’s settled upstairs now but is still effing and jeffing like nobody’s business. He says we’ll pay for this with our lives but I don’t think it’ll come to that.

I said to him you’ll have to keep it down or the neighbours will hear. Keith thinks I shouldn’t have said that as now he’ll know there are neighbours. I said he’s in a box-room in a semi-d he’ll figure out there are neighbours soon enough but Keith said I’m stupid and to stop giving information. No doubt he’s right I suppose. It’s all new to me, this kind of thing.

I brought up another cup of tea and took the blanket off his head. I have to hold the mug for him you see as he’s all tied up, bless him. Last time he tried to head-butt me and got tea all down the blanket - it’s my cream throw that goes over the back of my sofa. It’s not in the best nick because of the dog but still I avoid stains when I can.

It was my first time seeing him properly in the flesh - all red-faced and furious. He’s not like he seems on the telly, Weston Starr - musical icon (from the past), thrashing about in my box-room and insulting my new fringe. I cut it myself on the weekend and went a bit wonky. I suppose it’s an honour. He’s insulted all sorts of famous folk in the past.

To calm him down I explained that we hadn’t really kidnapped him, it was just for a few hours, and he wasn’t to take it out on me. He wouldn’t listen.

Keith took me onto the landing to have a word and said I shouldn’t be blathering on as he’d gone and prepared a whole speech. Keith then went in and, putting on a deep voice, said how we’d left a ransom letter and Weston should be released in no time ‘if his people play by the rules’. Weston called Keith a ‘gormless pillock with all the IQ of a Yop’ which I thought was a bit harsh.

I think he’s asleep now. It’s gone quiet at least. Keith’s in the kitchen watching the mobile phone he got especially from that little shop on the high-street that sells them second hand.

Weston’s people were meant to call so we could set up the hand-over but we’ve heard nowt.

Maybe they’re trying to find the money I said. Keith said like hell they are, they’re loaded. Maybe they’ve got the police all over it I said. Not if they know what’s good for them said Keith. He sounded like someone out of a movie and I told him so. I think he was pleased.

We had some crunch-corner yoghurts and watched Catchphrase. I brought a banana and chocolate flake up for Weston but he was dozing. He’s alright when he’s asleep.

6th January

Weston was over on his side and had drool spilling onto my Gary Barlow theme pillow-case. When I woke him he was blinking and burbling like a baby - until he realised where he was and then started the effing and jeffing again.

He used all sorts of words - even THAT one. You know the one. Well, I put my finger up and I said to him I’m not going to have talk like that - while he’s in my house he goes by my rules. That shut him up.

I don’t think people stand up to him much like that anymore. I expect they’re all afraid of him. Well not me, I’ve seen him drool and I’ve watched him do his morning toilet. I’m not likely to treat someone like royalty after that. I had the window open and the extractor fan on for forty-five minutes afterwards.

Then everything went mad - 'It’s on the news!’ said Keith. They said Weston Starr had gone missing and friends were appealing for him to get in touch.

‘Is that it?’ I said, ‘there’s nowt about a kidnapping?’ Keith was stumped but then said that they’re likely keeping it under wraps, ‘playing the long game’. Oh right I said.

The mobile didn’t ring all afternoon. Keith asked again if I’d got the number right on the ransom note. I said I had and it was left right there in the dressing room, they can’t have missed it. ‘Ah the long game,' said Keith again with a faraway look.

I put on Bargain Hunt and started the lunch.

I made potato waffle with an egg on top for Weston with a blog of both brown sauce and ketchup, so he had options. I could see it in those shifty eyes he was going to throw it at the wall, but I gave him a stern look and said if that goes on my wallpaper you’ll go hungry. He grumbled a bit then ate it right up. Weston said it was the type of food his mum used to make. I took it as a compliment.

He started up saying how he grew up in a place like this, in the suburbs. I told him I knew all about him. I was a fan back in my hey-day. He looked at me with those sharp eyes and I added that I still AM a fan of course. I told him I love all his new stuff which wasn’t true as I’ve not heard it but I’m sure it’s fine.

He then started on about his mum’s house, how it was on a quiet road a few over from the high-street - ‘much like this one I expect?’. I was about to say ours is on an estate but then I clocked what he was up to, the little sneak. He was fishing for information! Well I said if he thinks I’m a soft touch he can think on - and he won’t be getting eggs for lunch if he goes on playing mind-games with me.

He asked, in a voice all wobbly and quiet, if he can at least have a telly to watch so I brought in the one from our bedroom. It’s a proper old TV with a big backside on it. Weston scoffed at it of course but I told him not to be so high and mighty.

Keith said I shouldn’t be making ‘him upstairs’ too comfortable. Still, he’s not a prisoner exactly and Weston said he likes to watch Bargain Hunt too. We’re not so different. I watched some repeats of ‘Four in a Bed’ with him until he annoyed me by shouting at the contestants for under-marking.

Still no word from his people.

Keith gone quiet. One of his moods. I best steer clear.

9th January

Keith was pacing up and down all morning with that phone in hand and I said you’ll wear out my carpet. He snapped at me so I went up to sit with Weston to get some relief.

I said to Weston I can’t bear when Keith gets wound up like that. Weston said Keith reminds him of his dad - he was always on edge too.

That started Weston off talking about his childhood again. He does go on a bit. He said there was always tension in the air with his lot. He then said I wasn’t unlike his mum, though she was more of a glamorous type. Not that I’m fussed by what he says anyway - but I do scrub up alright when I have to, my cardigan with the glittery shoulders always gets remarks.

Anyway Weston was going on for quite a while about how lonely he was as a boy. Being in our house brought all the misery back to him he said. He was called Gareth back then of course, little Gareth Pickering. I got that off Wikipedia. I expect he changed it as it’s not very disco.

Weston says I shouldn’t put up with the way Keith talks to me. I expect he’s right. Keith can be a right misery guts and does get into a temper but I’m well used to it.

Then he asked me for a special favour. He leaned right in close and whispered in my ear that he’s not naturally chestnut. I said I expect not, he’s sixty-eight. He got in one of his huffy moods so I added that he looked forty-two. It was a lie.

I went to the Superdrug on the market to pick up some hair-dye for him. He said he didn’t want the paparazzi snapping at his roots when he’s released. He then went on about how his superstar friends were likely doing a fundraiser now to find him - Madonna won’t let him languish in this hell-hole. ‘No stone unturned!’ he said. I said I expect you’re right.

I knew he wasn’t.

It’s expensive enough stuff that hair-dye. Janet Miggins was behind me in the queue and I reckon he’s clocked the Just For Men so I explained our Keith wanted a change. She didn’t say much but I could tell the news would be all over the Finchley estate by tea-time.

Well Keith was furious when I told him that they’d both have to dye their hair to cover our tracks. I said we need to keep the story straight, Janet Miggins is no fool. Weston wasn’t too happy to share the dye either though calmed a bit when I pointed out Keith only has some wispy bits around the sides.

So that’s how I spent my evening, washing dye from both their heads over the bath. Weston said the tone was all wrong and Keith said it looked like someone had gone at his head with a marker. I said it took at years off him and he looked dead handsome. I was only trying to have fun and be a bit flirty. Keith near bit my head off and told me to stop making a fool of myself. Weston gave me that ‘I told you so’ look. I said nothing and mopped up the floor with one of the damp towels.

Later, I was taking my anorak up off the couch (the dog was making a bed of it and she’s been very farty recently), when I noticed there was an envelope in the inside pocket.

It was the ransom note.

Keith didn’t see, he was busy arguing with a cyclist online.

I could have sworn I left it down in the dressing room but there was so much happening all at once. Best not to mention it, Keith would hit the roof.

January 12th

Still no word from Weston’s people - but of course not. I made myself scarce and went down the high street.

I saw something in the charity shop opposite the cafe that might lift the mood at home a bit- of of those Casio keyboards. It looked worse for wear and I haggled the price down to six fifty. To cover my tracks I said I was learning to play for the old folks up in the home I volunteer at. The woman at the till didn’t seem too interested. Sour cow. Still, I was excited to get home.

Keith had a go at me for wasting money of course. He says I spoil that Weston. I told him to leave off, it’s only a bit of fun. But then Weston was sniffy about it too - said it was a piece of junk. Well I don’t mind telling you I got a bit teary. I was only trying my best.

Weston starting tinkering around on the keyboard to humour me and soon came up with a little ditty -

Please, don’t you cry

Beyond the clouds is a bright blue sky

Let me lift you up and soon we’ll fly

To where it never raaaains

It wasn’t much but it did cheer me up. My own Weston Starr song. I sang along but Weston asked me to stop.

I could hear him tinkering around with the keyboard upstairs while me and Keith were having our tea. An interview with Weston’s manager Celia Cliff came on The One Show - she was on promoting a 80s revival tour and they asked about Weston. She said he was likely ‘just taking some time out’ and that ‘he’d always been a bit reclusive’ but that ‘wished him well’.

'Bloody hell!’ said Keith, ‘they’re ignoring the ransom all together! Nobody wants the bastard!’

I soon got out of Keith’s way and went up to check on Weston. He was sitting on the bed, very quiet. He said he’d seen the interview too and said nobody missed him. I told him to cheer up and that I’d make him a hot choc if he likes. He threw the alarm clock across the room and said nobody in his life ever truly liked him anyway, it had all been fake. It was all very dramatic. I told him I’d put some marshmallows in the choc if he’d like and he agreed that sounded nice.

It’s a full-time job keeping peace in this house.

19th January

I got back in from the home at eleven and found Keith out the back, a pile of cigarette stubs at his feet. He said he had to get away from ‘the bloody maestro upstairs’.

Weston was playing on the keyboard and had scribbled down loads of notes. He was sweating like Billy-O. He said he’d finally found it again - his musical voice. He said being back in the ‘grey suburban limbo’ had reignited his spirit - the creative force burning for escape. He went on and on like this in a high excited voice. I said ‘oh lovely’ and asked what he wanted for lunch.

I brought down Weston’s washing and Keith says I shouldn’t be his skivvy. He had a go at me for spoiling him again. I said to him - ‘Keith the man’s been kidnapped!’. Keith said ‘Well that was a bloody mistake to begin with. I want him out by the end of the week.’.

I said to Keith that we can’t just throw him out again, we’ll get arrested - besides he’s writing some great music up there. He could be making a masterpiece in our box room! Keith scoffed at me, said I’d gone daft. Then he turned up the telly loud.

12th February

Well it all kicked off between Keith and Weston this morning.

Keith got the electricity bill in you see and he said that Weston is costing him a fortune, never mind eating us out of house and home. Weston said it’s hardly his fault but Keith reckoned that Weston should contribute to the bills while he’s under our roof. Weston disagreed and said he’s not funding his own kidnap.

Keith said Weston’s not kidnapped anymore - he’s formally un-kidnapped. He said he’ll drive Weston to a forest and drop him off like an old dog.

Weston said Keith can’t do that - he’s on a creative streak and almost has enough for a comeback double-album - his masterpiece. ‘Interrupting my process is a crime worse than kidnap!’ he said.

Keith said ‘sod your masterpiece, I just want to watch telly without your sodding music in my ear’.

Well Weston threw quite the fit then and would’t calm down until Keith agreed that he was a musical genius. It took Keith about twelve minutes to force the words out.

They are as bad as each other when they’re in a mood.

That night Weston played me a new song about a woman who had enough of her grouchy husband and buried him under the patio. It was that happy honky-tonk sound you can’t help but tap your feet along with. I said best to keep it down in case Keith hears.

17th February

Well, Keith finally blew his top. I knew it was coming.

While I was helping out at the old folks home, Weston got out of the house. He only went as far as the front garden but it’s what he did there that really kicked things off.

He insisted he couldn’t write properly without flowers to look at - he’d had fresh flowers delivered daily since 1976 and so daffodils were essential to ‘his process’. Thing is he took them from Keith’s little patch in the corner. I say ‘Keith’s patch’ but I do all the weeding, he just does the planting.

Keith said Weston would have to put his daffs back or face the consequences.

Well, when I came in they were scrabbling around the front room having a right go at each other. Keith with his top ripped off and belly out, Weston had a bloody lip, the sofa knocked over, the dog barking, and the good telly knocked from the wall.

I told them both to knock it off immediately and that I wasn’t going to have that carry-on in this house. I gave them both a yoghurt to calm them down. Then Keith said he couldn’t take it anymore - the tantrums, the music, the moaning - either Weston goes or he goes.

Well I didn’t know quite what to say.

November 24th

Gareth and I played at the old folks home again this morning. I just set up the keyboard for him and do the posters - ‘The Amazing Gareth Pickering!’. He says I overdo it with the glitter but I tell him to concentrate on his art and let me concentrate on mine.

He does like ‘an intimate audience’ but did have a moan about the lack of concentration and then went on about how it was so much better in Madison Square Garden. I asked him if it was like the botanical gardens at Disbury. He just sighed and said he despairs of me.

Still, we rub along together nice enough. We have the odd row about the washing up as he never washes the suds off before I dry. I say to him ‘Gareth you need to rinse’ but he won’t be told.

Of course everyone knows him now around the estate now. He has all his friends at the Thursday coffee club, they’re a right gossipy bunch and of course he’s in the thick of it all. I say he stirs them up against each other but he denies it, reckons he’s ‘just a sounding board’.

He seems much happier these days. I asked him if he ever wants to go back to his old life - to release that masterpiece album but he went quiet, patted my hand and said he’d love to but I need him too much. I told him to give over, I need him and his tantrums like I need a hole in the head.

It’s not true though. I do like having him about. We like watching The Chase, Tipping Point, and Antiques Roadshow but Fiona Bruce really winds him up for some reason. He says she’s too seductive around all those old folks. It’s indecent.

And he plays me some songs in the evening. He still won’t allow me sing along.

This young woman with one of those hairstyles came up to door this evening - said she was podcaster. I just shrugged and said I don’t have any money to give her. Went about what she called an ‘investigative series’ called ‘Missing Starr’. Said she’s spoken to a reliable source who claims that Weston Starr is living in my house as a recluse.

Oh, Keith you silly sod.

I said they were talking daft, the only people living here were me and my cousin. Then Bernie from next door came out and told the podcast woman to eff off or she’ll set her Alsatian on her. I could hear Gareth laughing alway in the front room.

Bernie doesn’t actually have an Alsatian. She has a Jack-Russell terrier called Phil. Still, he’s a vicious little bastard.

They’re protective around here like that. We stick to our own. Keep our own secrets.

Everyone knows of course but nobody says it aloud. You see the odd raised eyebrow and the occasional nudge in Tescos, but no, nobody’s too fussed. Besides, everyone’s used to him now, our Gareth.

I’m on Twitter @TheRoryJohn