Johnny Come Home – Jake Arnott

It’s what every well-dressed astronaut is wearing this season.’ ‘Go and try it on, Johnny,’ said Berkovitch. Johnny and Sweet Thing went into another room. ‘Might need to be let out a bit,’ Adrian murmured to Joe. ‘He’s put on a bit of weight since his last fitting.’ He was right. ‘Breathe in,’ said Sweet Thing as he tried the zip. ‘I am breathing in,’ Johnny insisted. In the end they just left it open at the chest. ‘Yeah, well, that works,’ said Adrian. ‘The hairy chest, the girls will just love that.’

‘Yeah?’ ‘Yeah,’ he replied, turning to whisper to Joe: ‘And the paunch, well, that works for Elvis, doesn’t it?’ There were boots that went with the suit. They had six-inch stacked heels. Johnny put them on and shuffled about in them. ‘I don’t think I can walk properly in these, Joe,’ he said.

‘You’ll get used to them.’ ‘I feel like Frankenstein’s fucking monster,’ said Johnny as he clomped around the studio. ‘Yeah,’ muttered Adrian to himself. ‘Exactly.’ The band began running through the number again and Johnny got changed back into his ordinary clothes. Berkovitch handed him a lyric sheet and a microphone. ‘Right,’ said Joe. ‘From the top.’ The Chromosomes played the intro. Johnny nodded along to the beat and stared at the words. He lifted up the microphone on his cue.

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. The band ground to a halt. ‘Er, he’s supposed to come in there,’ said Floyd the saxophone player. ‘You’re a little late there, Johnny,’ Berkovitch called out to him. ‘Let’s try it again. When you’re ready, lads.’ They went through it again and the same thing happened at the point where Johnny was supposed to start singing. ‘Is there a problem, Johnny?’ Berkovitch asked him. ‘I need a word, Joe,’ he replied. Joe beckoned him over. ‘What’s the matter?’

he hissed. ‘I can’t do it yet.’ ‘Yet? Yet? What do you mean yet? This is costing us money, Johnny.’ ‘No, I mean I need to practise.’ ‘Well, that’s what we’re supposed to be doing, isn’t it?’ ‘No, I mean . . . He nodded at the band. ‘Not with them.’ ‘What? On your own?’ ‘No,’ he whispered to his manager. ‘With Sweet Thing.’ ‘With the kid?’ ‘I can’t explain it, Joe. I just need to do it with him. He can do me better than I can.’

Berkovitch sighed. He told the band to go for lunch and cleared the studio of everybody else. ‘Right then, Joe,’ said Johnny. ‘Play the backing track. Sweet Thing, come over here.’ ‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked.

Copyright © 2006 Jake Arnott First published in Great Britain in 2006 by Sceptre An imprint of Hodder and Stoughton An Hachette Livre UK company The right of Jake Arnott to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 A Sceptre Book All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library Epub ISBN 9781848946606 Book ISBN 9780340818596 Hodder and Stoughton Ltd An Hachette Livre UK company 338 Euston Road London NW1 3BH www.hodder.co.uk OceanofPDF.com CONTENTS Johnny Come Home Imprint Page Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 OceanofPDF.com 1 As Good a Time as Any O’Connell came back to the squat and went up to his room.

The house was empty, so now was as good a time as any. He started to rifle through the papers on his desk. There were a few things to be sorted out. He was thinking ahead. Soon he would be dead, he mused. There were plans to be made for the promising future. He started to gather up all that was on the worktop and dump it into a plastic bag.

He would get rid of everything, he decided. There was nothing that he wanted to leave behind. Should he write a note? What would be the point of that? Out of politeness perhaps, but that was never his style. He had never liked goodbyes, after all. He knew that if he delayed any longer he would lose his resolve. It was time to go.

He knew that he should have said something to Pearson. Too late for that.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

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• Unique ID: ea2e21534e7bbe61
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• ISBN: 9781848946606, 9780340818596
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• Language: English (en)

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