Free Getting High by Paolo Hewitt Page B

not that. He’s just split up with his girlfriend and I was talking to him about it, in private, you know what I mean. I mean, he can’t get any peace out there and he is very upset.’
    Paul and the bouncer looked at Liam. Particles of cocaine were falling out of his nostril. Paul knew then that it was useless to argue.
    â€˜I don’t believe you,’ the bouncer said.
    â€˜Okay, then mate, here’s the crack,’ Liam said. ‘Me and him are gay and we were in there doing it.’
    â€˜Right, you two, out,’ The bouncer went to take Liam’s arm.
    Liam stepped back an inch and fixed him with a cold stare. ‘Look mate, we’ll fuck off from your poxy joint but don’t you dare touch my fucking coat. That’s all. Don’t touch my coat.’
    The bouncer considered the situation, stepped back and let Liam walk past him and out into the cold October air.
    Back at the hotel there was football on the TV. Manchester City were playing in the Coca-Cola cup. Paul, Liam and the three girls retired to a room to watch it. The room had two single beds. Liam sat with the two pretty ones. Paul spoke to ‘mum’.
    But despite all Liam’s subtle suggestions, there was to be no action tonight. The ‘mum’ of the party wasn’t going to leave without her brood. They were keen to stay. No doubt there. They said so every time their friend went to the bathroom. But ‘mum’ was adamant. She wasn’t budging without them.
    Finally, reluctantly, they left for the house they were staying in. Liam promised to put them all on the guest-list.
    â€˜But I’m not putting the ugly one on,’ he viciously stated after they had gone. ‘She can fuck right off.’
    Liam was now at a loose end. And he was pissed and wired. No way was he going to bed. Not in this state, not at this time. He grabbed the phone and ordered up some drinks, produced the coke he had left over, started chopping it out, started talking. Of all things, he spoke about his name first.
    He hated William. Too long. Far too long. But he did have John and Paul to go in between William and Gallagher, and as they were the best songwriters ever, it was a good sign.
    His brother’s name then came up. Inevitably.
    â€˜Look at him kicking me out of his flat,’ Liam said with mild disgust, like you would about someone who hadn’t washed for days. ‘Half of that flat is mine. I’m his brother, half of it’s mine.’ This was Liam logic.
    Yet the main grievance wasn’t about house evictions. No. It was about money. The way it worked was simple; Oasis members all got the same cut from records and gigs, and were given weekly wages. Apart from Noel, whose songwriting royalties and publishing money saw to that. That slice of the cake wasn’t shared. To Liam, this was wrong.
    â€˜If I was the songwriter – I’m not, but if I was – I would divvy up that money as well. Spread it out among everyone. Not keep it to myself.’
    After all, why were the band successful? Was it just the songs? Or was it other things? Like Liam’s contribution. Or them working their arses off on the road. He didn’t like it when Noel got involved on the money side of things. It changed him.
    It was like in 1994 when they first went to New York. The record company took them out for a meal and this dickhead from Epic called them ‘lucky’. Lucky? Lucky to be signing to their label. Fucking lucky? Us?
    Liam rounded on him, ‘You’re fucking lucky to have us, not the other way round.’ And Noel sat there and said nish, acted all business-like. Liam got annoyed and had a go at Noel as well.
    Liam loved his brother, obvious innit? But sometimes he felt that Noel never gave anything back.
    He bobbed his head and began talking about the Newcastle gig, the one where Noel got smacked on-stage. Here, Liam became indignant, the new Mancunian in him flaring up as