The Trouble with Rock Stars: Jackson's Story (Access All Areas 3)

She didn’t tell me straight away but slowly the truth came out.

Alex disappeared after the accident.

He’d been the one driving the van. Word was, he’d been far too drunk to drive. The other guys from the band — Pete and Steve — had shown up to give their condolences and they’d not said anything outright but Mum had jumped on every word, wanting to know, trying to piece things together.

When they talked, I tried to put the pillow over my head. I wanted to drown them out. But, every time the doorbell rang, I strained my ears. It’d be Alex. He’d come. He’d explain. He’d tell us that they were wrong. He hadn’t been driving and he hadn’t been drunk. It was all lies. I could barely get out of bed but I always had that one glimmer of hope — that the crash hadn’t been Alex’s fault, and that he’d come rushing to make me believe that.

He couldn’t bring Jake back to life but he could prove it was an accident, a genuine mistake, and that all those rumors were untrue.

But he was the only one who didn’t come to the house.

Dad just paced the floor, frustration wearing a path in the carpet. At one point, he wanted to go somewhere. I didn’t hear where, but Mum got upset.

“No, Bill,” she said. “Don’t do anything rash. Leave it to the police.”

I looked for Alex on the day of the funeral. Thousands of people had turned up. Everyone in town loved Jake. What wasn’t to love? He’d been the sweetest guy. I’d say that even if he hadn’t been my brother. Most of the girls from high school turned up, crying on each other’s shoulders. Most of them had a crush on him. If they hadn’t, th

en they had some story of his kindness.

I stood apart from them. Their sadness would soon pass but mine went right to the bone. They all seemed so young.

After it was all over, people hugged me, an endless crush of bodies telling me they’d never forget Jake. None of them were Alex.

I’d lost two people on the night of that crash: my brother and my first love. There were no words and no condolences that would make that better.

Then, one morning about six months after the crash, I woke with the realization that Alex would never turn up. I’d held out for six long months just hoping something would make sense from all of this. It’d taken six months for the truth about Alex to dawn on me: he just didn’t care.

The light of common sense finally penetrated the darkness of my mind.

I got out of bed, finally grasping that I couldn’t sleep and mourn my life away. Jake would’ve never wanted that. I came alive in baby steps. I had to force myself at first, opening the curtains and letting in the sun.

Taking a shower every morning.

Looking for work.

Summer holidays had just started when Jake died and I’d graduated from high school with plans to go to university. But summer ended without me doing a thing about it. I’d lost all heart for study. Mum and Dad didn’t even nag me. Mum just moped about the house, with barely more energy than I had. Dad spent most of his time in the garage working in on his car.

Jake’s things sat in his room, untouched.

Summoning up all my courage, I opened the door. The room stunk. Pizza boxes littered the floor, along with stinky gym socks and dirty t-shirts. It was a wonder the rats hadn’t moved in.

Mum didn’t have the heart to do this, I’d have to do it. I gathered up the clothes from the floor and threw them in a garbage bag. Then I opened the wardrobe. The smell of Jake hit me and I wanted to collapse into a heap, but I sank my teeth into my lip for a moment to hold back the tears then kept going.

I didn’t stop until I used up every garbage bag in the house. The magazines I found under the bed, I didn’t even look at.

Mum stood outside the door and watched me for a while. She didn’t tell me to stop but she didn’t come in to help either. It was easier to do this alone, anyway. Jake’s room had always been a pigsty but now it was far too clean. I didn’t want to obliterate him, I just wanted to take the fear away. I didn’t want the house to have a closed door forever.

In the corner of the room sat Jake’s Fender. It’d been a gift from Alex. Jake loved that guitar. Both Alex and Jake played guitar. Pete played bass and Steve was the drummer. But Jake had been able to play anything — guitar, drums, keyboards. I left that guitar propped up against the wall, not wanting to touch it.

Not long after that, I found a job waiting tables in a cafe. Then I moved out of home. The cafe owners had a small apartment over the cafe just sitting empty. They were happy for me to move in. I think Mum wanted me to stay. She didn’t want an empty house but I couldn’t let them support me forever. I was an adult now.

Slowly, I’d let the world back in.

And, as I did, the thoughts of Alex turned black. Instead of wanting him to redeem himself, I had one motivation only — and that was revenge.

I had no idea about how to go about finding him. He’d fallen off the radar altogether. Pete and Steve hadn’t heard from him either. Every night after work, I’d go online and search for him.

Dad had been obsessed with bringing him to justice for a while. He went to the police station and spoke to them so many times. They said there was no evidence that Alex had even been drunk. That’d been wrong. People had seen him get behind the wheel. Pete said he’d told Alex not to drive. Alex was crazy drunk. Pete told him to leave the van behind and get a cab. They’d pick it up the next day.