When It Drops

by Alex Dyson

  CHAPTER 21

  The fluorescent lights of the hospital waiting room were a stark contrast to the ambient green glow of the music venue. The triage nurse looked at the Clifford siblings strangely as they walked through the automatic doors, which was fair enough, because they certainly looked strange. Rachel, with her blue hair and tear-stained face. Nat, with a lump of bloody tissues in his mouth. And finally Caleb, in his full-body velvet tracksuit with shoulder flourishes that made him look like a goth flamingo.

  ‘Can I help you?’ asked the nurse.

  ‘Yes, is Monica Clifford here please?’ said Rachel as stoically as possible.

  ‘And who should I say is asking?’

  ‘Her children.’

  ‘Okay,’ the nurse said tentatively. ‘Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll see if I can find her.’

  The trio looked at each other, then wandered to a row of seats against the back wall. The last time they had been here was to visit their dad.

  Although they looked similar, the hospital waiting room had a very different sound to the palliative care ward. It was more organic. The hum of lights; the occasional cough of an attendee; the chunky whomp of a soft drink can being spat out of a vending machine. There was an element of randomness here. Of hope. Caleb remembered his dad’s room sounding more electronic; the sharp, piercing beep of the heart monitor combining with the deep, guttural slurping of the respirator, giving the whole room a sense of foreboding. Of finality.

  Speaking of finality, there were a couple more deaths this evening. Caleb’s music career, for one. The strange thing was, Caleb was bizarrely numb to it. Shattered, obviously, but vindicated. He knew he wasn’t cut out for this life. He’d tried to tell people. And they didn’t listen. And now here he was, with the least satisfying ‘I told you so’ ever.

  The second death was his chance of ever dating Ella Westlake. She had a boyfriend. And not only that, she’d dropped the news on him right before he was about to go onstage.

  He hadn’t seen her before he, Rachel and Nat had rushed out. How could he even explain what had happened? She was probably wondering why he didn’t play the song he’d named after her. Why he’d left without saying goodbye.

  Caleb looked over at his siblings. Rachel was picking her fingernails nervously. Nat was still holding the bloody tissues to his mouth.

  ‘Does the tooth fairy give money if the tooth is fake?’ Nat mumbled through his mouthful of tissue.

  The question caught Caleb off-guard, and he couldn’t help but snort. ‘I reckon it’s just half price,’ he said. ‘Like fool’s gold.’

  Nat smiled back.

  Rachel huffed at her brothers. ‘Are you guys serious right now? I mean, can we have a bit more concern for the situation, please? Look where we are!’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s much better than the last time we were here,’ said Nat. Rachel looked like she was trying to work up a protest, but at that point, their mum walked through the automatic doors. She spotted them and almost ran over.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she gasped. ‘Nat, what happened?!’

  Nat removed the paper, revealing the hole.

  ‘WHAT? Again?!’ She knelt in front of them to take a look. The gap where Nathaniel’s left canine was, then wasn’t, then was again, then wasn’t, sat dark and bloody in his mouth. Monica Clifford glared at Caleb.

  ‘It wasn’t me!’ he said quickly.

  She turned back to Nat. ‘What happened this time?’

  Nat hesitated. ‘I tripped?’ he mumbled.

  Rachel and Caleb exchanged glances.

  ‘He didn’t trip, Mum,’ Rachel interjected. She took a deep breath. ‘Jai hit him. Caleb’s A&R guy at TransAtlantic.’

  ‘What? You mean the man I met?’

  ‘Yep. The guy who came to our house.’

  ‘But why would he do that?’

  ‘I kicked him in the balls,’ Nathaniel said. ‘He was being a dick.’

  ‘It’s okay, Mum,’ Rachel added quickly. ‘Jai turned out to be an arsehole, and Nat stood up for us.’

  Their mum seemed to be having trouble processing everything. Rachel was on a roll, though. She sniffed. ‘It’s my fault. I saw a couple of signs with Jai, but I didn’t say anything. I feel responsible, and I’m just really sorry …’

  Rachel hung her head. Caleb thought he should add something, but he couldn’t tell what their mum was thinking. She looked angry. Or concerned? Or sympathetic. It was hard to tell.

  ‘As the eldest, Rachel, you have a responsibility to look after your brothers,’ their mum said matter-of-factly. ‘But don’t you dare take the blame for the actions of someone else. I see far too many women in here apologising on behalf of men.’

  Rachel nodded solemnly. Their mum turned to Caleb. ‘Now, you two had better go home. I’ll take care of Nat. He’ll probably need his jaw X-rayed again. Caleb – we’ll talk about all this when I get home, okay?’

  Caleb and Rachel obliged, heading out to the car in a daze. Caleb was astounded at how things had played out. His mother at work was really different to his mum at home. She seemed more … in the zone? More decisive? Was that a weird thing to say? He couldn’t put his finger on why, but she’d definitely handled the whole incident better than he had expected her to. It was just another confusing element to add to a night of chaos.

  The duo got into Rachel’s car and sat in silence for a moment. Caleb turned to look at Rachel, who was squeezing the steering wheel tightly. He realised that, while his career seemed to be over, Rachel’s budding relationship was as well.

  Tears formed in her eyes. Caleb wanted to help her. To take away some of the pain they were feeling. So he made a suggestion: ‘Should we hit the drive-thru on the way home?’

  Rachel nodded. ‘Definitely.’

  And so, with Rachel’s cracked windscreen staring back at them and Caleb’s velvet jumpsuit chafing his thighs, they drove in silence towards a tomorrow they were both dreading.

  CHAPTER 22

  James Toovey WTF? He didn’t even play his most famous song? The only one that anyone even knows. I didn’t even pay and I want my money back!

  – Facebook

  @Liam4dayz I know he’s young, but seriously, it was like watching a mannequin playing freeze-tag up there.

  – Instagram

  @KILLAHQWEEN97 BVTTON SVCKS!

  – Twitter

  Caleb hadn’t slept since getting home.

  He wanted to be alone.

  But he wasn’t.

  Sure, his bedroom technically had only one person in it, but it was also filled with a thousand others; voices and opinions scratching and shrieking through the pixels of Caleb’s various screens. He’d made the mistake of checking reviews of the show online, and was now drowning in the steady stream of ‘constructive criticism’.

  @WockaFlockaQuokka For real, someone needs to do the world a favour and take these insufferable indie producers to an island in the Pacific and bomb it.

  – Twitter

  Caleb felt sick. He had tried his best. Besides, he was just doing it for Rachel. And Jai. And Ella. And now it seemed like his mere existence was offensive. He felt like he was back in year seven on that first day, the unseen voices laughing and taunting him from behind graffitied walls.

  He was a loser.

  The previous evening’s events kept replaying in his mind. The boyfriend. The costume. The updates. The kick. The scream. The mullet. It played on a loop. He hadn’t heard what had happened to Jai after the security guard crash-tackled him. It was probably just as well. He briefly flirted with the idea of texting Ella, but decided against it.

  I have a boyfriend.

  The words flowed back into his mind. She hadn’t texted him, either. He’d just have to wait.

  Friday morning light poked in from behind his blinds. He didn’t hear his mum approaching before she opened the door.

  ‘Caleb? Come on, you’re going to be late.’

  ‘I think I should just stay home toda
y,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sorry for what happened last night, Caleb. But I did say from the start that your extracurricular music shouldn’t interfere with school. So, come on. Up.’

  Caleb groaned, and got up.

  Caleb sat in Music class, hoping his current pain could be soothed by a particular type of ointment: the unbridled positivity of Miralee Kahn. Their fight at the party had cut Caleb deep but, when juxtaposed with what people had said about him online, Miralee’s comments were almost compliments. Besides, he was desperate for a friend. So he was in his usual seat, waiting for her to arrive. And she did, five minutes later.

  But she wasn’t alone.

  Celia Pavey and Miralee laughed together as they walked into the room. They headed to the back where Celia usually sat, Miralee only seeming to notice Caleb as they sat down. She stopped talking and looked at him. Caleb spun back to face the front of the room. Anger boiled within. He’d done it again: ignored a friend. Sent them into the arms, or at least the desk, of someone else. Someone better. It was like lightning striking twice, four years apart.

  ‘All right!’ Mr Hommelhoff said abruptly, unaware of the friendship politics playing out under his nose, ‘I had a great time reading through your projects – very enlightening stuff. I hadn’t heard a lot of the songs you picked. Some of these new “hip” tracks are not really my personal taste, but I didn’t take marks off for that! Although, Timothy, I’m not sure A$AP Jockey’s track “Yeet My Meat” was wholly appropriate … anyway, you were marked on your grasp of the song and the way in which you analysed it. So, without further ado, I’ll hand these back.’

  Caleb had forgotten that he’d even handed in his project. Maybe his current musical failure would be turned around by a good mark. At least Mr Hommelhoff would be impressed that he’d got some exclusive info about the song straight from the artist himself.

  The teacher waddled through the room, Caleb’s assignment finally landing on his table. The title page looked back at him.

  Jake Townsend

  ‘Turbulence’ – An electro-step ballad about failing love

  An analysis by Caleb Clifford

  ‘Now, if anyone wants to discuss their result, come and see me after class,’ Mr Hommelhoff added.

  Caleb flicked to the marking page. The first thing that stuck out was a giant C- in red ink. The same pen had scrawled a comment:

  A decent effort marred by some simple errors as well as some creative overreach. While the project has a generally cohesive feel, your assumptions undermine what could have been an otherwise serviceable analysis.

  Caleb felt hot. He looked around the room at everyone reading their marks. Smiles. Shrugs. How could this be possible? He was used to these sorts of marks in Maths or History, but he prided himself on Music. After the embarrassment of last night and the disappointment of this morning, that pride was now shot to ribbons. He overheard Miralee squeal with delight. He turned around and saw Celia Pavey give her a high five. He thought of his teacher’s comments. Of the online comments. Of his mum’s comments. Of Ella’s lack of comments. They gouged his insides. He needed to escape –

  ‘Caleb?’

  Mr Hommelhoff’s words fell on deaf ears. Caleb stood, tucked his books under his arm, and walked out.

  Caleb was tired.

  Caleb was angry.

  Caleb was gone.

  Caleb walked past the curled-back chicken wire fence outside the Music room and headed for the river. The plan was to find a spot to sit and be alone, but there weren’t many options among the thick reeds that lined the concrete channel. And so he kept walking, bush-bashing along the edge until the concrete got wider and wider and guided the town’s stormwater towards the actual Jacques River. Eventually, the concrete turned to grass, the abandoned shopping trolleys turned to park benches, and Caleb found himself walking through a regal-looking park whose only inhabitants were joggers and the odd ibis. On the opposite bank, he saw a grand sandstone building rising up over the water.

  Montaigne College.

  It was recess, and students in crisp white shirts milled about, laughing and hanging out on the edge of the water. Again, Caleb couldn’t help but wonder what might have been if he’d followed his old friends, Danny and Kirsten and Nick, to that picturesque place. How his life would have been different. Instead, he’d followed his heart to Riverview, and ended up in the hot mess called his life.

  He could have been over there instead.

  He could have been happy.

  Caleb’s phone buzzed. For a moment, he thought it might be Ella, but the caller ID was from an unknown number. After a brief hesitation, Caleb answered.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Caleb Clifford? This is Dinesh Chabra – I’m the head of acquisitions at TransAtlantic Records. I was hoping you’d have some time this afternoon to come into our office?’

  Caleb froze. Was this the Dinesh Chabra? The one Jai was always going on about? He was a big deal at TransAtlantic. He must be calling about last night.

  ‘Are you there?’ Dinesh said.

  ‘Yes, sorry.’

  ‘Are you free this afternoon?’

  Caleb looked at the park. A family having a picnic sat on his right. A few ducks were to his left. He had a lot of things planned for this afternoon, but most of them were doona-related.

  ‘Okay?’

  ‘Excellent. And your manager is Rachel Clifford, right? If she would care to join us, that would be … advantageous.’

  ‘Um, okay, I’ll ask her.’

  ‘Great. I’ll get my secretary to forward you the details. See you soon, Mr Clifford.’

  ‘Okay – oh, wait – will Jai be there?’

  Click.

  The line went dead.

  Caleb sighed. He took one last look at the school across the river, then unlocked his phone once again.

  Time to call his manager.

  CHAPTER 23

  Despite being signed to TransAtlantic, Caleb had never actually visited their offices. It was tough to say what the interior designers of the space were going for, but with its imposing sleek lines and quirky minimalist furniture, Caleb decided the look was ‘intimidating’.

  Alongside the trendy furnishing, trendy workers were everywhere: hundreds of people like Jai behind standing desks, all in outstanding clothes, all interspersed with cardboard cut-outs of some of the biggest artists in the world. Caleb figured this was a place no nerdy year ten kid should be.

  He gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows and looked down at the river below. The city was full of people going about their business on another day on planet Earth. He wondered about their lives. What they were going through. Had any of them heard his song? Had any of them written mean stuff about him online? A man walking a small white dog scratched his bald head. Maybe he was the one who said all indie producers should be put on an island and bombed, or whatever that comment was. Caleb couldn’t remember exactly what it said. But he could remember exactly how it made him feel. And that feeling was terrible.

  ‘How ya doing?’ Rachel asked. She was perched on a bizarrely designed blue couch, a magazine in hand.

  ‘Terrible,’ Caleb replied.

  ‘Hey, Button, it’ll be okay, mate,’ Rachel said. ‘We’ll go in, he’ll apologise on behalf of the company or whatever, assign you a different A&R rep, and then we can start fresh.’

  ‘Can he make Ella like me more than her boyfriend?’

  ‘What?! No, but –’

  ‘Can he get Miralee to talk to me again?’

  ‘Caleb …’

  ‘Can he bring Dad back?’

  Rachel walked across the waiting area and hugged Caleb, who buried his head in her shoulder and moaned. Rachel patted his head. Then she held Caleb by the arms and looked him in the eye. ‘This guy can’t do all of that. But you can. I mean, obviously you can’t bring back Dad. But you can talk to Miralee. And you can get Ella to like you. You made a hit song, so you can definitely do that.’ Caleb sniffed and straightened
up a bit. ‘It’ll be okay, you’ll see. Besides, they might even offer us some sort of compensation. Who knows?’

  Caleb took a breath. ‘Someone punches Nat in the face and I get compensated? This could be the best day ever.’ He grinned faintly at his sister. She laughed.

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ she said.

  ‘Caleb and Rachel Clifford?’ the receptionist called from her desk.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Mr Chabra is ready for you now.’

  The office that belonged to the head of TransAtlantic Records was big, but proportional – because its owner, Dinesh Chabra, was also massive.

  Caleb and Rachel stood in the doorway as he swivelled around in his computer chair – one that certainly didn’t look like it was acquired from hard rubbish.

  ‘Ah, hello, Caleb, Rachel – please have a seat.’ He motioned towards a table and chairs in the corner. ‘Water?’ he said as they sat. He held out a long, thin bottle of TRÖYE spring water, bottled at the source in the wild fjords of Norway. Rachel accepted.

  ‘And what about you, young man?’

  Caleb was thirsty, but declined. He didn’t want to offend Dinesh by taking his water for free, but he also didn’t want to offend the planet by using a plastic bottle.

  Mr Chabra nodded and continued. ‘Now, I won’t take up too much of your time. Firstly, I would like to apologise on behalf of TransAtlantic Records for the incident last night. I’ve received a full report of what happened, and it was regrettable. We have spoken to the offending party, and his internship has been terminated.’

  Rachel sat up straighter. ‘Sorry – internship?’

  ‘Correct. Jai Fordham is one of our interns. I assume you knew that …?’

  Rachel looked flabbergasted. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t seem to find the words. She flopped back into her chair and muttered something that sounded like, ‘son of a bitch’. Caleb was confused. He didn’t recall Jai ever using the word ‘intern’.

  ‘Now, as I’m sure you’re aware,’ Dinesh continued, ‘with all our intern-led development deals, there is a key-man clause, which, given the circumstances, we think it best to invoke, pertaining to section 6.8 of your contract. This would mean reaching full conscious decoupling by the thirty-first of the month, which, as you know, falls well within the cooling-off period, and therefore nullifies our financial commitments henceforth.’