#Zero. Neil McCormick

to write it down but the phone was plucked from my hand and I was led into another overlit ballroom to applause from massed ranks of journalists, seated on row after row of fold-up chairs, leaning forward, notebooks in hand, ready, willing and eager to record my every inanity. And there was going to be some inanity spouted this afternoon. I sat behind a raised table bristling with microphones, smiled graciously and prepared to answer the most stupid questions I would hear all day.

      International press conferences really are the bottom of the barrel of global communications, a room packed with stringers from every second-rate media outlet in every corner of the globe, intent on reducing the burning issues of the hour to its parochial essence so they can go back to their editors with at least one line of provincially relevant copy. And so it began.

      ‘Hi, I am Sumiko from Asahi Shimbun. You have many fans in Japan who share your concern for the future of young people on the planet Earth. What is special relevance in your song “Never Young” for people of Japan?’

      Yeah, how about stop dressing your hookers up as schoolgirls, that would be a start. There is no pornography in the world more disturbing than Japanese porn, and I should know, I’ve whacked off to enough of it. And while we’re at it, how about you leave the whales alone? What have whales ever done to you? In fact, we’ve got to talk about this whole sushi business. Haven’t you heard the seas are going to be fished out by the middle of the century? What are you going to eat then? Cucumber rolls?

      I didn’t say that, of course. I said, ‘I love Japan, Sumiko. Tokyo is one of my favourite cities in the world. It feels like the future is already here, and when I’m gazing up at that awesome skyline I think maybe, just maybe, there is hope for us all.’

      ‘Hello, Zero. Jouko from Helsingin Sanomat. Is there a special reason why you chose Finland to launch the European leg of your tour?’

      Yeah, because it’s the middle of fucking nowhere, the weather is shit, the transport links are terrible, the media won’t be busting a gut to get there and it’s nice to get a show under the belt before we hit a major capital. That’s the truth. But what I said was: ‘Hi, Jouko. Finland is a very special place. I once played a midsummer festival there with The Zero Sums, which was weird, all these kids trashed out of their minds on that local moonshine, stumbling about under the midnight sun, it was like a post-apocalypse teenage zombie party, which seemed absolutely right for this record. And I always find Finnish audiences to be very appreciative. They really give you a great reception.’ I didn’t add the obvious point that they should fucking appreciate it because no other major star ever goes and plays there, it’s such a fucking dump. Next question.

      ‘Bonjour, Zero, Thierry Grizard, Agence France-Presse. You play the Stade De France, two dates, your biggest shows in mainland Europe – do you have a special relationship with the French people?’

      I don’t know, Thierry, I’ve fucked a couple of French hotties in my time but the waiters are kind of rude, non? Wrong answer. ‘Paris is one of the great cities, it’s one of the only places I ever visited outside Ireland before … well, before all this, did you know that? I went on a school trip, spent a day on a coach and a ferry, to see some exhibition about the European Union, which was kind of boring to be honest, but we took in all the sites: Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, Sacré-Coeur, the hookers on Montmartre.’ This got a laugh, which is a dangerous thing, because it only encourages me. ‘A couple of us bunked off and spent an afternoon trying to find the grave of Jim Morrison but we just got lost and had to be brought back to the hotel by the gendarmes. My teachers were not amused, I can tell you. I took a beating for France, that day.’

      That was Eileen and me, what a day that was – we made love in a park under the shadow of a national monument, ate crêpes and drank café au lait down by the river, then ran off without paying, laughing like lunatics, which is how come the gendarmes got involved. I hadn’t thought about that in a very long time, and the way it opened up before me now I felt like I could just fall into the past, go tumbling back to a bridge across the Seine, where I couldn’t quite believe I was standing in the sunshine with the prettiest girl from Kilrock, and I loved her and she loved me, and I was happy, I was happy, I was really fucking happy. I blinked hard, snapping back to the present and all those expectant faces. ‘Vive la France!’ I shouted, stupidly.

      ‘Hi, Zero, Kay Darling from the Sun …’ announced a startling figure beneath an enormous mane of black hair. She was dressed like she was auditioning for the role of high priestess at a black mass, with the kind of plunging décolletage you could hurl yourself into from an Olympic high diving board and survive the fall.

      ‘Hello, Darling, what’s your question?’ I knew Kay well, Darling by name but not by nature, poison princess of British gossip, the so-called ‘celebrities’ friend’, she would dazzle you with cleavage while stabbing her six-inch stiletto heels through your heart.

      ‘Given that your fiancée has opted to Carry On Up the Amazon with Troy Anthony rather than joining you in New York for Weekend Zero, I was wondering what advice you would give to any of my readers who may have already gone to the expense of purchasing wedding gifts? Should they hold on to their receipts?’

      You had to watch out for the Brits at these things, they prided themselves on the art of provocation. ‘You can tell your readers Penelope has all the cutlery she needs, thank you, Kay. So why not claim a refund and send the money to the MedellÍn orphan’s appeal?’

      ‘So are we to take it wedding plans are on hold?’ she persisted.

      ‘One question each, Kay, you know the rules,’ interrupted Flavia. ‘There are a lot of territories to get through.’

      ‘We haven’t set a date but when we do, you’ll be the last to know,’ I snapped. ‘Why does anyone still think this is an interesting story? Famous actress on location with famous actor. Love scenes thought to be involved.’ There was a smattering of laughter and applause. Oh, don’t encourage me. ‘I knew what I was getting in for when I got together with Penelope. I’ve got the director’s cut of Suicide Blonde.’ More laughter. ‘You should see the pre-nup her lawyers handed me. She reserves the right to send a body double on honeymoon.’ I was lapping it up now. ‘If we ever split, she gets to keep the five houses, I get the tent up the Amazon with Troy.’

      I should have known better than to goad a hack.

      ‘So I take it you haven’t seen the evening edition of the New York Post?’ smirked Kay Darling. ‘I believe they’re running a series of shots of Penelope and Troy in what used to be known as compromising positions.’

      Fuck that bitch. I wasn’t going to give her the pleasure of seeing me flinch. ‘Compromising Positions? Isn’t that the name of Troy’s new movie? You should see if they’ve got a part for you. I think it ends with a ritual sacrifice of the truth. You’d be perfect for it.’

      Someone else had the microphone now. ‘Hi, it’s Sven from Sweden. Last year you had the biggest selling album in Sweden, your Stockholm show has sold out in under ten minutes – what do you think is the source of your special connection with the Swedish people?’

      Thank fuck for Sven from Sweden. ‘I love Sweden,’ I said with feeling. ‘Abba, The Cardigans, I grew up on Swedish pop music …’ Blah de fucking blah. I just wanted to get out of there, but I had another thirty territories of foreign cock to suck.

      Afterwards, I posed and grinned like a model on MDMA for a photocall in front of logos of our tour sponsors, then I was led out front, pressing flesh with a screaming crowd before hurling myself into the back of the limo, where I slumped across a leather couch to be transported to rehearsals in Queens, mirror shades pulled down over tired eyes. I gave Kilo the cutthroat signal. Minions and media could ride coach, I needed a moment alone. Well, when I say alone, there was Kilo, Beasley, Flavia, Eugenie and Cornelius, which is about as alone as I ever got. Oh and Tiny Tony and the driver up front.

      Beasley and Flavia dived straight into forensic analysis of the press conference, but I wasn’t listening. Too many stray thoughts and images were chasing each other around my head, knotting together in ever more complex permutations, circles and loops of memory and projection,