Telltale ~ Liam Gallagher

MARCH 2001

"No I'm absolutely fine here darling, absolutely fine." Zara flusters whilst setting up her table and prints. "But on your way would you please check in on my fool of a lover, that would be fantastic." She hands me a flimsy lilac envelope which is, no joke, sealed with her kiss mark. Her face turns red and worried as she whispers, "Make sure he opens it alone."

Reluctantly, but with the falsest smile I can muster, I take the envelope into my hand knowing full well that inside are images of my boss in a... compromising nature.

Zara turns away from me and back to her setup (as if I didn't exist), preparing for the onslaught of fans she is yet to receive and hastily reapplies her rose lipstick with a shaking hand.

I leave without another word but with a feeling of glee as I won't be seeing my controlling boss - in person - for a whole month! I say 'in person' because she has asked me to house-sit  (which is apparently a normal thing for a celebrity's PA to do) meaning I'll have to stare at the hundreds of photographs she has of herself up in the apartment. And look after thay bloody awful dog.

The studio is a twelve minute walk away  (quarter of an hour from my flat) but a bit extra if you include the several minutes I'll spend in a café on the way. Perks of the job I suppose.

The walk is somewhat awkward knowing that in my back pocket sits a collection of nude photographs of Zara.

I could drop these at any moment. Anyone could find them...

I'm not that mean.

Pushing the dark thoughts from my mind, I pay for my cappuccino and head in the direction of the band's studio where work on the next album is currently taking place.

Upon my arrival I am greeted by chaos. Not the 'couple-of-cans-and-a-takeaway-container' kind of chaos, but the 'Binbags-emptied-on-the-floor-as-well-as-a-smashed-up-drumkit' sort. Carnage.

Did I mention the guitar (which has had all the strings par G removed) being used as a beer table?

Beneath the wreckage sits Andy Bell tuning up his bass. "They had a fight." He says without even looking up.

I don't need to ask who. "Where?"

"Toilets."

I push past the rubbish and dodge the numerous instruments strewn all over the carpet, minding my coffee doesn't lap over the edges of the cup, and enter the scene of the crime.

Liam is stood opposite a blood splattered mirror holding a wad of toilet paper to his face.

"He started it."

/////

Wiping the blood from around his jaw I grumble, "You guys are too old for this now. Is he in a worse state?"

Liam shakes his head and inhales sharply when I apply disinfectant to the burgundy wound, "Only managed to push him into the door. He's fine."

"I guess that's a relief then. What even started it?"

"Talkin' about me mam wasn't he. Sayin' how she prefers me and all that. Bloody bollocks. Mam isn't like that. She doesn't have favourites."

I sigh, tracing his jaw with the wipe and dab it a few times more, but before I can finish he catches my wrist in his hand. "Thanks Penny."

I let my eyes flicker over his for a moment before diverting my gaze to the bloodied tissue I now have in my hand. "Don't mention it." I suddenly remember the envelope and hand it over to him, red-stained fingertips causing the lilac to turn bloody. "Zara told me to give these to you... and open them alone."

He spins the envelope inbetween his thumb and index finger before aiming it into the bin where I'm stood. "Don't tell her." He grins momentarily, pushing himself off of the counter and admiring his reflection in the mirror.

"So vain." I chuckle at his actions, disposing of the wipes I used to clean up the wound. "Before you leave you need to find your brother. Never walk away whilst in an argument - you never know when the last time you'll speak to someone is." And I should know.

Liam nods - not the response I was expecting - smiling slightly before leaving me alone in the toilets.

/////

The toast is burnt again. It always is.

"I'll be back later tonight Mum." I shout to the stranger she has become, sat opposite the morning news, face as blank as ever whilst the headlines bask onto her lifeless face.

I shovel the toast into the bin and hide it underneath some kitchen roll. I don't want Mum to feel her efforts were wasted.

"I'm seeing Claire to run through our lines." I continue, chucking an apple into my bag and taking a sip from my thermos. "Don't bother with tea. I'll eat there."

No response. I don't get many words out from her these days.

Shoes on, bag positioned on my shoulder and hair in a messy bun squished underneath a bobble hat, I take myself to the front door, peering into the living room to check on my Mum before leaving for school.

The lines on her face are more pronounced than ever, deep purple bags rest below her once youthful eyes and her lips a thin line of stone above her chin. She's aged a lot in these past few months since my Dad left. Her age is suddenly showing.

Everyone would comment on how alike we looked; how mum was like my older sister. The age gap is far more visible now.

"Mum?" I try to get her attention away from the news presenter and onto me. Attention isn't something I take for granted anymore.

Her head whips round, the blue light from the television basking onto her face. She nods once in a solemn manner, eyes still dead and expression placid.

I leave without saying another word.