Still, I had eyes only for Genevieve as she adjusted the height of the microphone so that she could play rhythm guitar and sing. Something shifted inside me, as I recognised Genevieve on a visceral level. The sensation was so strange I felt slightly sick.
In my mind's eye, superimposed over this Genevieve in the grainy black-and-white film, I saw Veevie in full colour, running down the upstairs hall towards the bathroom. She laughed as she glanced back over her shoulder. The memory of the dream wasn't just visual, it came with all the emotional associations, and these triggered other vignettes, each as rich and multilayered: Genevieve prancing around the kitchen, Genevieve at the kitchen table, tear tracks on her cheeks while she searched my face for something only I could give.
As my dreams came back to me, I realised I'd been seeing Genevieve James every night since I'd moved into One-Eight-One. No wonder I recognised her.
Monty caught my hand, to stop me rubbing the palm on the couch. 'We're about to see the original line-up of the Tough Romantics,' he said with a soft laugh. 'And I've got goose bumps. Antsy's obsession must be rubbing off on me.'
This time I didn't bother to deny the fixation.
The screen reclaimed my attention. It had to have been filmed with a hand-held camera. More heads blocked our view, and there was clapping as Tucker picked up his bass guitar and Pia went over to the mic near Arthur.
Abruptly the picture faded to black then came back. I realised the cameraman had climbed onto a chair and Arthur must have edited this out because now we were about the same level as the four band members.
Tucker gave the signal, nodding to Arthur who began with a series of rising chords, then Tucker's guitar came in with Genevieve playing rhythm. Next came Pia harmonising, professionally sensual already.
And then Genevieve sang Heartless City. It told the story of young woman who can't find love and ends up killing herself. The child-that-I-was had thought it told the story of my mother. That was before I found out about the drugs and the voices.
The camera focused on Genevieve and I couldn't tear my gaze away. She had none of Pia's practised moves. She was raw. She was vulnerable. She sang from the heart and her voice was incredible. She did not sound like a girl of nearly 17, more like a woman who had seen life and suffered.
'Gets you right here, doesn't it?' Arthur whispered, tapping his chest with his fist.
'Such a powerful voice from that little body.' I found it hard to speak. I knew the song of course, it was their first single, but this arrangement was unfamiliar. When Heartless City was released it had been transposed for Pia's higher voice. I had a love/hate thing with the famous recording; the one that had been my mother's favourite, the one she'd played over and over in the last month before she died. I remembered that, more than I remembered her. Much like the faces of the band, also more familiar than hers, from the posters on our walls.
Yet I had no trouble appreciating this version and, now that I'd heard it, I would never feel the same about Pia's rendition. This was grittier and much more powerful.
I glanced up at Monty. He was spellbound. I turned to Arthur. Tears trailed slowly down his cheeks. I looked away and didn't look back.
The shaky camera work, the intimacy of the pub gig, it held me enthralled. Then Genevieve stepped back to let Pia sing. The Tough Romantics played another six songs, all original material. Tucker and Pia sang the one that later became their trademark, You Don't See Me. Even Arthur had a short solo on the synthesiser. The 18-year-old Arthur seemed glad when it was over. They finished with Genevieve and Tucker doing a duet where they argued in song over a love gone wrong. I knew I Don't Need You!, but again, the lyrics in this version were not the lyrics I was familiar with. This was raw and sassy, yet poignant.
'Veevie wrote that,' Arthur said, voice cracking. 'The record company made us clean it up for release. In those days we didn't have the power to say no.'
The band's set finished and the screen faded to black, then cleared. Now we were backstage with the band and their hangers-on, who were drinking, smoking and talking. Tucker and Pia dominated the group; Genevieve was just a common sparrow compared to those swans. And there was Arthur with his sensitive, lopsided face telegraphing every emotion. The group radiated a vital energy, almost as if they knew they were going to make it big.
Arthur stood up and cleared his throat as the recording finished. There was silence in the semi-dark of the heavily curtained garage. He took the DVD out of the computer and put it in its case with deliberate casualness. I realised he was giving himself a chance to regain control. When he'd done that he switched on a desk light and turned to us.
'So,' he said, 'Veevie was a no-talent hanger on? Bullshit!'
'How come I've never heard a recording of her singing?' I asked. 'The band did a demo for Mushroom just before she died. What happened to it?'
'Ask Tucker. He claims it was pinched when we were touring. If so, why hasn't it turned up? Some fan somewhere would be boasting that it was in his collection.' Arthur's hands closed protectively around the DVD. 'Tuck doesn't know I've got this. No one does.'
'What about the guy who filmed it?'
'Drove his car into a pole while under the influence.'
'Sorry to hear that. I need a copy of that DVD. Could you burn one for me?' I heard myself and winced. Arthur had kept this film secret for 25 years and he'd admitted he'd felt much more than friendship for Genevieve. This had to be painful for him. I cleared my throat. 'Please?'
For a heartbeat I thought he was going to refuse, then he nodded slowly as if it was painful for him.
I had to come clean. 'Would you mind if I uploaded a clip to YouTube and my Facebook page? I'm also doing a blog.'
'I know. I googled you and the band,' Arthur admitted. One corner of his mouth lifted. 'Six gold records, 11 years of national and international charity work and all you can talk about is my biscuit dunking?'
I blushed. I knew blogging would come back to bite me.
He grinned. 'Sure, put something up, but only a snippet. Something with Veevie. I know just the thing. Tuck'll go troppo.'
I had to laugh.
'This won't take a minute,' Arthur said. He put the disk back in the computer drive. While he set up the burn, haunting synthesised singing segued through the garage-studio. He and Monty put their heads together, talking software samplers and synthesiser loops but I was preoccupied.
I'd told Monty I remembered my dreams. I always had, until the accident. Since then I'd been falling asleep and waking like one dead, until I moved into One-Eight-One. I'd slept there three nights now, the first two I'd had nightmares about Nathan. Last night was the first time I hadn't woken in a sweat of fear. Last night it seemed I'd dreamed of a Genevieve James instead. Over and over again.
Arthur's DVD cast a new light on her murder. She had been an integral part of the band and, according to O'Toole, Tucker used to knock her around. What if Tucker had been furious with her for wanting to leave them? What if, in a fit of temper, he'd grabbed the knife from the kitchen bench and stabbed her? Had she run out to the taxi to get away from him, then been too weak to lock the doors?
I'd only been trying to wind him up today. But maybe- maybe Tucker wasn't so much an arrogant prick as a murderous prick, who was hiding a gangrenous secret that could ruin him. What if Walenski's 'educated guess' was wrong? I shivered. On consideration, yanking Tucker's chain didn't seem like such a good idea.
But I was still going to upload the clip of Genevieve singing. It was too good to pass up.
'Here.' Arthur thrust the DVD copy into my hands. 'That's the whole thing, plus I've converted two clips to mpegs. Upload the You Don't See Me clip of Pia and Tucker first to stir up interest. Hint you have something that showcases Veevie. When you've got them buzzing, then upload the I Don't Need You! clip with Veevie