Free Death of a Cave Dweller by Sally Spencer Page B

has to have a lead guitarist, Steve.”
    â€œI know we need a new lead guitarist,” Steve Walker said. “But we don’t have to have one
yet
. Not before Eddie’s even cold in his grave. Don’t you have any respect?”
    Jack Towers puffed nervously on his cigarette. “I’m sorry that Eddie’s dead,” he said. “Really sorry. But we have to be practical. We’ve been cancelling gigs all over the place. Everybody understands us doing that for a few days, but it can’t go on indefinitely, or all we’ve worked for will have gone down the drain.”
    It was evident from the look on Steve Walker’s face that that had been the wrong thing to say.
    â€œAll
we’ve
worked for!” he repeated. “What have
you
done? We’re the ones who’ve written the songs. We’re the ones who get up on the stage night after night – singin’ till we’re hoarse, playin’ our instruments till we’ve got blisters on our fingers. All you have to do as our manager, Jack, is pick up the phone an’ make a few calls.”
    â€œYou’re not bein’ fair to the man, Steve,” Pete Foster said.
    Another bad move, Woodend thought. But with Walker in the mood he evidently was in, was there any such thing as a good move?
    â€œSo, you think I’m not bein’ fair, do you?” Walker ranted. “Well, let me tell you somethin’, Pete – it’s not a fair world. If it was, Eddie would be standin’ with us right now.”
    â€œLook, Steve,” Jack Towers said, “I was keeping it as a surprise, but I suppose you’d better know now – I’ve managed to get you an audition with a record company in London, two weeks from today.”
    Woodend quickly glanced from face to face. Billie Simmons’ expression told him that the announcement came as news to the drummer, but Pete Foster’s look said that he had known about the audition for a while.
    As for Steve Walker, his face was still blazing with anger. “How long have you known about this?” he demanded.
    Towers shrugged. “A few days.”
    â€œAnd why the bloody hell didn’t you tell
me
about it?”
    â€œI was going to – but what with Eddie dying like that . . .”
    He’d been holding it back as a surprise, Woodend thought. Waiting for the right moment to produce it like a rabbit out of a hat – the right moment to show Steve Walker just what a good manager he really was. “Anyway, the fact is that you
have
an audition with a record company,” Jack Towers continued. “
Now
do you see why we need a new guitarist as soon as possible?”
    â€œThere was a time when I’d have been over the moon to get news like that,” Steve Walker told him. “An’ do you know what it means to me now? Absolutely nothin’! Bugger all! In case you three have forgotten it, Eddie was our mate. We went through a lot together. An’ now, even though he’s only been dead a couple of days, you’re all acting as if he never existed.”
    â€œWe can’t throw away the group’s chances just because Eddie’s dead,” Pete Foster said quietly.
    â€œCan’t we?” Steve Walker screamed back at him. “Well, maybe you can’t, Pete, but just watch me.”
    Elbowing his way between the others, he strode furiously across the room and disappeared through the archway. Those who remained were silent for some seconds, then Pete Foster said, “He’ll be back.”
    â€œI’m not so sure of that,” Jack Towers said worriedly.
    â€œThe Seagulls are the best chance any of us have of ever bein’ famous,” Pete told him. “Steve knows that as well as I do, an’ he wants to be a success – perhaps more than any of us.”
    Woodend lit a cigarette, more to be doing
something than because he needed a smoke. He knew that the scene
he