Page 9 of Escape to the Country

Chapter 4

Tom woke up, his head throbbing as he moved it. He groaned and opened his eyes to see his manager Sam sitting on the chair next to the bed.

‘Good morning,’ mumbled Tom, half asleep and still trying to work out where he was.

‘Afternoon actually,’ replied Sam, putting his mobile down. ‘I’m not sure what to ask about first. Your hangover or your foot?’

Gradually, Tom began to focus and took in the sterile room with its strip lighting, single bed and crisp white sheet covering him. Oh yes. It was all coming back to him now. He was in hospital.

He stared down the bed to where his right foot was bandaged and raised up on top of a pillow. ‘The hangover’s disappearing,’ he lied, wincing as even speaking was painful at that moment. ‘The foot might take a bit longer to heal.’

He glanced around the large private room in the hospital that he only just about remembered ending up in the previous evening. It was already filled with balloons and flowers wishing him a speedy recovery.

‘What the hell happened?’ said Sam, looking as if he were trying to remain calm. ‘You had a great gig, finished a fantastic tour on a real high and then, what? You got blind drunk and broke your leg as you passed out in the street!’

Tom shook his head and groaned as even that hurt. ‘It wasn’t like that.’

‘So tell me,’ said Sam, his eyes glaring.

‘I only had a couple of drinks,’ Tom explained. ‘You know I haven’t drunk anything for months. Honestly. I was exhausted and actually finished the night relatively early on, believe it or not. But I slipped off the pavement on the way to getting a taxi and somehow managed to tear a ligament. No bones broken. No drunken disgrace.’

‘Tell that to the media,’ said Sam, grabbing his phone and handing it over to show Tom the various screens as he flicked past them.

TOMMY DRUNK AGAIN!screamed the headlines, he managed to catch. PASSED OUT IN THE STREET!IS IT TIME FOR REHAB,TOMMY?

Tom closed his eyes and sighed. ‘They’re just exaggerating everything, as per usual. Trying to make a story out of nothing.’

‘Well, it’s working,’ Sam told him. ‘You’re the number one trend on Twitter today. Congratulations.’

Tom glanced through a couple more of the photographs before pushing the iPhone back towards Sam in disgust. No wonder he didn’t trust anyone. People had taken photos of him lying down on the pavement in obvious pain. No-one in the crowd had offered to phone for an ambulance or check that he was actually okay.

He hadn’t been comatose. Merely in agony from a misstep. That was all. And now it was everywhere. Everyone was talking about him, thinking that they knew all about him.

Judging him.

Like he hadn’t been used to that from day one of his life. As usual, he felt his inner defence shields rise in response.

Tom shifted in his bed and immediately felt a twinge of pain from his foot. Apparently it would take up to six weeks to heal the tiny tear in his ankle. Rest and recuperation are your best bet, the doctor had told him. Since when had he last done that?

‘You look exhausted,’ said Sam.

‘I don’t know if you remember but I’ve just finished a massive world tour,’ drawled Tom.

Even saying the words still sounded unbelievable to him. The fame itself had been remarkable in its speed.

He was a carpenter by trade, having completed his college apprenticeship on the job. He had left school as quickly as possible, desperate to be independent. The song writing had only been a hobby in his mind. A daydream that could never come true for someone like him. He had however managed to wangle a couple of sessions to play at a local pub in Hampstead after fitting some new cupboard doors in the kitchen. The landlord liked the acoustic nature of his playing, just Tom and his guitar.

Slowly, thanks to the power of social media and a couple of local reviews, the word got out that he was talented and it had become a regular gig, gaining in popularity.

Then, one night after he had finished playing, Sam Harris had introduced himself as he was standing at the bar. He told Tom that he managed a number of bands and singers – the most famous of which was Hazy Memory, a seventies rock band. Tom had been impressed by the portfolio of artists he had on his books. After all, Sam was only the same age as him.

Sam was quietly spoken but firm in his belief that Tom had talent. He promised nothing but said that he could work with him to develop his song writing ability. Tom agreed to his proposition, trusting Sam – itself a rare thing in his life so far. They quickly developed a strong bond and Tom felt able to rely on his new manager’s encouragement and advice.

Tom had been halfway into writing his first album of songs when something amazing happened. The American rapper Jazz Goldblatt had been in London on tour and had happened to visit the pub where Tom had been playing.

Jazz tweeted his three million followers about the ‘awesome Brit boy’ and suddenly Tom had become an overnight sensation. A clip of him playing at the pub went viral on YouTube and had twenty million hits.

Sam began to be inundated with phone calls from his contacts across the music industry and a bidding war for Tom’s first album erupted between two record labels, the result being a contract worth millions.