Dream On Read Free

that showed every time she smiled. She had lovely
hair, too; chestnut brown, thick and shiny, which he hadn't noticed at first
because he only looked at girls with long hair (rock stars' girlfriends always
had long hair, didn't they?), but by the end of their first proper date the
next night he'd fallen in love with the way her glossy fringe and neat
chin-length bob framed her cute little face. A week later she told him she was
in love with him, too, and from then on they were a couple: Dave Bentley and
Janice Brown.
    Life was a blast for the first eighteen months -
rock gigs, pub nights, days out on the bike.  Dave still lived with his mum,
but Janice shared a flat with the thick friend, Carolyn, so he spent most of
his time there. Then Janice got pregnant.
    They were shocked, scared and delighted, all at the
same time. Having a baby wouldn't affect their lifestyle at all, oh no - they
wouldn't let it. Dave Junior would go everywhere with them. He'd be a rock
'n' roll baby, in a mini Motorhead t-shirt!
    "Okay, but we're not calling him Lemmy!" Janice
said.
    "How about Hendrix, then?"
    Janice laughed. "What if he wants to be an accountant?"
    "Hey, no kid of mine is doing a square job like
that!" Dave said, "what about Dylan, after the great Bob?"
    "No, sounds like we're Welsh."
    "Angus, after Mr AC/DC himself?"
    "No! Too Scottish."
    "Slash? Axl?"
    "Don't be daft."
    Eventually they both agreed on Harley - another of Dave's
brainwaves.
    Well, it was better than Nigel, the preference expressed by
his mother.
    Harley Bentley-Brown was born on January the
twenty-ninth, 2003.
    Contrary to what his parents had expected, and as
was right and proper, his birth changed everything.
    They were allotted a house on Greyfriars Council
Estate, and Dave's life was no longer his own.
    Before his bike and his musical aspirations, he had
to think about rent, utility bills, council tax, food, nappies - the Suzuki
Bandit had to go, to be replaced by a Ford Escort estate; useful for work, and
for carting around all the stuff that babies needed, he discovered, every time
they travelled a few yards down the road. Janice had a difficult birth, and
hated that she couldn't shift what everyone told her was her 'baby weight'. Secretly,
Dave liked her being a bit bigger, because much of the weight had gone on her
tits and arse. They were a happy family, and Dave loved them both, his girl
and his baby, but reality had kicked in, the rules had changed, and things like
finding a toddler sized Motorhead t-shirt for Harley didn't seem so important,
now.
    And then came Critical Mass.
    Harley was nine months old and summer was over. Dave found himself 'settling down', and he wasn't sure he liked it. No, that
wasn't right - he liked it quite a lot, and it was this that he didn't like. He hadn't written a song since before Harley was born, hadn't sung in a band for
two years, and the odd thing was that he didn't really mind at all, most of the
time - though sometimes panic overwhelmed him.
    Sometimes, he'd look at his guitar and think, I'm
twenty-eight and I've done nothing. Hendrix, Joplin, Cobain - they'd all
become rock legends and died before they got to his age. He knew it was still
within him, the creativity, the desire, but he'd allowed his calling to
stagnate. He would be thirty in two years' time. People had wives and kids
and still became rock stars, didn't they? He couldn't just keep going to work,
meeting Shane and the lads down the pub, coming home to snuggle up to Janice and
Harley. It was okay for now; no, it was more than okay - it was great  - but he
couldn't do only that for the rest of his life, could he?
    He couldn't just be a normal husband and dad,
eventually getting his hair cut and swapping his leather for some sort of
casual jacket from Janice's Littlewoods catalogue. Taking his lost youth to
the pub, standing at the bar and telling the younger men that he used to play guitar
and ride a motorbike, too. 
    The invitation to join Critical