When It Drops

by Alex Dyson

  Caleb was staring.

  Like, uncomfortably staring.

  But you would be too, if your musical hero was standing in your bedroom next to your decrepit old computer chair.

  ‘This is a really cool set-up, man,’ Jake said.

  ‘It’s not that good,’ Caleb said bashfully.

  ‘Nah, it’s great. Really compact. It’s all you need. The chair’s seen better days, hey?’

  ‘Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve been meaning to get a new one. My dad and I got it together though, so I guess I haven’t really wanted to throw it out.’

  ‘That’s fair enough, man. So, should we get started?’

  Caleb hesitated. If this was happening, he obviously wanted to get into it straight away. He just had one question.

  ‘How?’

  ‘How what?’ Jake asked.

  ‘I mean, how is this happening? How am I playing Splendour?’

  Jake chuckled. ‘Well, you know how people play festivals?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And you know how sometimes they pull out of festivals and other people have to fill in?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Well, there you go.’

  Caleb was dumbfounded.

  ‘It’s just good timing, man. Now come on, we should get going. Rachel said you’ve already got a set together from another gig you did, so let’s hear it.’

  Caleb sat down at the desk and, over the next half an hour, showed Jake the songs he’d played at the Phresh FM gig – this time, including ‘Ella’.

  Jake smiled when he was done. ‘That’s sick, man. I like it. “Ella” is primed, and I loved – what was it called – “Total Swarm” as well.’

  ‘Yeah. Thanks a lot,’ said Caleb. A warmth spread through him, and it wasn’t just from the painkillers he’d taken for his headache. It was a warmth that no compliment from anyone else would produce. When Jake spoke, Caleb trusted his words, and they made him feel a whole lot better. There was no doubt he needed some calming over what could potentially go down tomorrow. The concept of not only attending Splendour, but playing it, was starting to solidify in his mind.

  ‘The only thing is,’ Jake said carefully. ‘The Splendour set will go for about forty minutes, and we’ve only got about thirty minutes of songs so far. Have you got any other tracks lying around?’

  Caleb thought about it. When it came to good songs, his cupboard was pretty bare. Hell, it was barer than his actual cupboard, which held just his school uniform and, like, three T-shirts. Coming up with ten more minutes of music good enough for Splendour would be a challenge.

  ‘You could play a cover?’ Jake offered. ‘That always goes down well.’

  ‘Oh – I did this little rework of “Arrival” by Japanese Wallpaper. I could try that?’

  ‘Perfect, dude. Anything else?’

  Caleb clicked on the recent folder in Ableton. There wasn’t much in it. Apart from the brief flourish of inspiration behind ‘Ella’, he was never really in the mood. Unless … oh god, would it even still be there?

  ‘There might be something, but I don’t know how good it is …’

  Caleb clicked on the recycle bin icon, and there it was.

  ‘“Cancer”? Woah, heavy,’ said Jake.

  ‘Yeah, I made it a few weeks ago, but I don’t think it’s very good.’

  ‘Well, only one way to find out …’

  Caleb hit play on the song he’d made on the anniversary of his father’s death – before any of this crazy stuff had happened. Jake listened with his head down, which made it tough to gauge his thoughts. Caleb squinted his eyes, and tried to squint his ears too, just in case that would make it sound better. Surprisingly, it kind of worked. Either that, or the song wasn’t as bad as he remembered. Caleb realised the sounds he’d included in the track were eerily similar to those he was reminded of when he visited the hospital: electronic bleeps, and hums that sounded like fluoro lights.

  When the song finished, Jake lifted his head. ‘I like it,’ he stated. Caleb exhaled. ‘It might not be totally there yet, but as a demo, it works. I think you can definitely chuck it in. What’s it about?’

  ‘Um, my dad, he um … got cancer and, yeah, died last year.’

  ‘Oh, shit, that’s right – you told me. I’m sorry, man.’

  ‘That’s okay.’

  ‘I can see why you’d want to keep the chair then.’

  Caleb nodded.

  ‘Well, if you were planning on working on it more, I could help you for a bit? Get it festival ready. I could give you a hand for, like’ – he checked his watch – ‘an hour or so?’

  ‘Woah, that would be really incredible.’

  ‘Great. Okay, the first thing I do when I’m making a song is –’

  Jake’s phone buzzed. Caleb managed to catch a glimpse of the screen as he pulled it out of his pocket. It said: AVA – MOBILE.

  Jake looked surprised as he stared at the screen. Then he stuffed it back in his pocket without answering.

  Caleb looked away before Jake caught him watching.

  ‘Sorry, I was just saying, the first thing I’d mention about the song is, it was a bit … repetitive. If that makes sense? It should grow a bit more, y’know. Have some variation. Some loud sounds, soft sounds – does that make sense?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Caleb said.

  ‘So, what was your dad like?’

  It was a tough question to answer, but Caleb tried. He told Jake about his dad’s jokes. His Food Safari. His cheeky grin. The new-found info about his dad and mum’s first date, as well as Caleb’s earliest memories of him: dancing around the living room to ‘Hey Jude’ in a swirl of smiles and flowers.

  With this in mind, they went about crafting a second chorus to the song, using the base Caleb started with and expanding it to a cacophony of noise, with rolling trills of piccolo alongside the broad chords of an organ that Jake helped him draw in. Jake ended up staying for two hours. And at the end, they had a song Caleb was super proud of. It was hard to define, but the song had morphed from a sort of sad, dour song to something that truly reminded him of his dad. The cheekiness. The energy. The joy. His excitement to play it tomorrow almost superseded his terror at jumping up onstage.

  ‘I think we’ve got it, man,’ Jake finally said. ‘Now, I’d really better go.’

  Caleb was lost for words. How do you thank someone for something so amazing?

  ‘The only thing is – what do you think about the title?’ Jake said. ‘I mean, “Cancer” is cool, in that it’s pretty bold. But I’m not sure it suits the song now, after the changes we’ve made. And from what you’ve told me, your dad was a lot more than just a dude who got sick.’

  ‘Yeah. I guess so,’ Caleb said.

  ‘Anyway, something to think about.’ Jake picked up his jacket and headed towards the door. ‘Exciting, though. Hopefully I’ll bump into you onsite tomorrow. I gave Rachel all the details, so she should be able to make sure everything’s sorted.’

  ‘Awesome, thanks again, Jake.’

  Jake nodded and smiled.

  ‘Just one last thing though, sorry,’ Caleb asked, hoping he wasn’t pushing his luck. ‘What should I do with the setlist? I mean, I reckon I’ll put “Ella” last, ’cos it’s the most popular, but how should I arrange the others?’

  ‘It’s totally up to you, man,’ said Jake. ‘It’s your show. It’s what you want to say to people. Just get up there and have fun. Feel it. And get some sleep! Ciao.’

  Jake left his room. Caleb turned and looked right back at Jake again, albeit on a poster this time.

  He was feeling … good? The deep pit of nerves he usually lugged around with him was different. He was nervous with excitement now, not worry. Maybe he could pull this thing off.

  Caleb sat back down and saved the song. He thought about what Jake had said. His most recent memories of his dad were of a guy with a disease – but most of his memories weren’t that at all. A lot of them were happy. Dad had told him once that
cancer was the dark cloud that hung over him, but his kids were his umbrella. Then he’d done a little jig around the living room and pretended to fly away like Mary Poppins. It had made Caleb laugh.

  He looked at his computer and hit rename. What could he change the title to? What would sum up his dad?

  He had an idea. He clicked backspace once, and then hit one key.

  Just one key.

  It was the final piece of the puzzle. With that in the middle of his set, the cover, and the original five songs, Caleb had enough music to fill in for an international artist at the largest music festival in the country.

  It was ridiculous, but it was happening.

  And he was ready.

  CHAPTER 29

  ‘Come on guys, we’re going to be late!’

  Caleb was standing in the driveway next to the open boot of Rachel’s car. He’d been there for ten minutes already, but everyone else was still inside – doing what, he didn’t know.

  ‘Rachel! You ready?’ he yelled again.

  Rachel finally hurried out. ‘Sorry, just getting Mum organised. Wait ’til you see her.’

  ‘We don’t really have time for this,’ said Caleb. ‘It takes two hours to get there, and I need to do a soundcheck – plus, we need to pick up Miralee!’

  ‘Mum, come on!’ yelled Rachel.

  Caleb’s jaw dropped.

  Wandering onto the driveway was their mum, in a flowing tie-dyed dress that belonged to Rachel. Caleb had never seen her in anything other than scrubs or a beige V-neck before.

  ‘How do I look?’ Monica asked, throwing her arms out and twirling around. She smiled as she struck a pose, the offensively colourful dress billowing around her.

  There was only one answer he could give.

  ‘Happy,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, well, it’s not every day you get invited to a music festival by your son.’ She pulled him close and kissed him on the head.

  ‘Champ, you ready?’ Rachel yelled.

  Nat walked outside wearing his now trademark massive sunnies, accompanied by a terry towelling bucket hat and a gold-and-maroon Boyen Bears rugby jumper. He hadn’t been to a festival before, but he certainly looked the part.

  ‘Come on, we’ve got to go!’ said Caleb.

  ‘No worries – CHK CHK BOOM!’ Nathaniel was making the sound effects for ‘shotgun’ now instead of saying it. Unfortunately for him, when he got to the passenger side, there was no-one in their mum’s car.

  ‘Sorry, mate,’ said Caleb. ‘I’m driving manual today.’

  ‘Oh my GOD!’

  Caleb saw Miralee mouth the words as he pulled into her driveway.

  ‘Slowly, slowly, that’s it,’ his mum said. Despite the cracked windscreen, Caleb had managed to manoeuvre Rachel’s car all the way to Miralee’s in reasonable time.

  ‘Caleb! You’re driving – this is amazing!’ she said as she scrambled into the back seat next to Nathaniel and Rachel. ‘Hi, Mrs Clifford. You look great!’

  ‘All right, let’s go to Splendour!’ said Rachel. Everyone gave a little cheer. Caleb pushed the clutch in and moved the gearstick to reverse. Slowly but seamlessly, he backed out of the driveway; then, with only the slightest hop, the car was on its way.

  ‘Wow, Caleb, you’re a natural!’ said Miralee.

  Caleb felt a bit proud.

  He could do this.

  ‘I love your dress by the way.’

  They had been driving for almost an hour, in which time Miralee had taken about three breaths between words.

  ‘Oh, thank you. I’m not usually the tie-dye type.’

  ‘What’s the time?’ asked Caleb.

  ‘Eight minutes after the last time you asked me,’ said Rachel.

  Caleb was relieved. They were going to make it in time for his soundcheck.

  The scenery was becoming a lot greener as they neared the festival site, and Caleb was feeling a strange sense of tranquillity. He was in control behind the wheel and cruising on the highway in fifth gear, which was a lot easier than driving in the suburbs. They rounded a large, sweeping bend, and Caleb saw something that concerned him.

  ‘Mum – what do I do?’

  Monica turned back from talking to Miralee and spotted the sign as well. The large yellow letters read:

  RBT AHEAD - - - PREPARE TO STOP

  ‘It’s okay, it’s just a random breath test. You’ll be okay.’

  Caleb didn’t feel okay. He’d drunk quite a lot on Friday night. Was there a chance it was still in his system? How long did alcohol stay in your system? Would they send him to jail? ARRRGHH!

  ‘Slow down, Caleb,’ his mum said. ‘That’s it, indicator on.’

  For the briefest of moments, Caleb pictured himself making a run for it – hitting the accelerator and starting a crazy car chase – but that would be wildly outlandish and not at all in keeping with his character. So, of course, he did as his mum said and followed the police officer who was waving a flashing torch thing to the side of the road, where he elegantly stalled the car by taking his foot off the clutch in fifth gear.

  The police officer motioned for Caleb to roll the window down.

  ‘Hello, sir. Just a random breath test today. Have you drunk any alcohol recently?’

  Caleb was terrified but, as usual, he was also honest to a fault. ‘Um, yes, two nights ago. I had some vodka, but I spewed most of it up.’

  ‘Caleb!’ their mum exclaimed. Caleb shrugged sheepishly.

  ‘I see. As a learner, you are aware that the required blood alcohol reading is zero, aren’t you?’

  ‘Um, yes?’

  ‘Well in that case, would you please count to five loudly and clearly over this device.’

  Caleb tried to stay calm. His voice cracked slightly as he recited the numbers.

  ‘Thank you. Please wait here.’

  ‘Will it take long?’ Caleb asked quickly. ‘I’m playing at Splendour.’

  The officer looked at him sternly. ‘It won’t be a moment, sir,’ she said, scanning everyone crammed in the car while holding the little blue device. Everyone smiled back encouragingly.

  The machine beeped.

  Caleb held his breath.

  ‘Okay, I’m not getting any indication of alcohol, so that is good news.’

  The relief Caleb felt was monumental.

  The passengers in the car relaxed as well – until the police officer asked Caleb another question. ‘What can you tell me about this, though?’ she said, pointing to the crack in Rachel’s windscreen. The crack that had started as a small divot, but had slowly grown over the last few weeks.

  Caleb stuttered.

  Miralee, from her position in the back seat, jumped in. ‘It’s my fault!’ she exclaimed. ‘It was my double bass case.’

  ‘No,’ piped up Rachel. ‘It was my fault. I was the one who slammed on the brakes.’

  ‘Actually, it was my bad,’ Nat said. ‘I was the one who shared the song.’

  ‘No,’ said Caleb solemnly. ‘It was me. I’m the one who made it in the first place.’

  The officer’s stern expression transformed into one of bewilderment. ‘Well,’ she said, regaining her composure. ‘Regardless of who’s at fault, you can’t drive with the windscreen in this unsafe state. If you all wouldn’t mind stepping from the vehicle.’

  Caleb froze. He was falling. Swirling. This couldn’t be happening.

  ‘But, I’m sorry, officer – Caleb is playing at the festival!’ Rachel was pleading. Doing her best as a manager to make the issue go away.

  ‘Well, I’m sorry about that. But I’d be putting both you and your fellow drivers at risk if I let you drive. Now come on, everyone out.’

  This is it, Caleb thought. After all this, he was going to miss it.

  Everyone stepped out of the car and stood on the side of the road, next to the tree line.

  ‘Let’s just walk!’ said Nat. ‘It can’t be too far.’

  ‘What about Caleb’s gear?’ their mum asked. ‘We won’t be
able to carry it all.’

  The flashing lights of the police cars spun. The sounds of the crew debating the pros and cons of various schemes melted into the rhythmic swooshes of the cars streaming past on the highway.

  Caleb had an idea.

  He didn’t like what it might mean, but it was his only shot.

  He took out his phone and dialled a number. ‘Hello, Ella? Does your mum still drive that old Tarago?’

  ‘So, how have you been, Caleb?’

  ‘Good thanks, Mrs Westlake. Thanks a lot for picking us up.’

  Caleb sat in the middle row of Susan Westlake’s family van next to the love of his life – and her boyfriend. Luckily, the van had not been far behind Caleb and his team, so they only lost about twelve minutes of waiting time, plus the extra four minutes it took for Susan to pass the breath test.

  Mum had scored the front seat while, ironically, Nat had shotgunned the back row, squished in next to Rachel and Miralee, leaving Ella smack bang in the middle row between two boys who had a crush on her.

  Caleb avoided eye contact. He still felt waves of anger and shame being this close to Damo, but dealt with it by looking out the window and trying to focus on his set.

  ‘So, Ella tells me you’re playing today – that’s pretty exciting!’ said Mrs Westlake. ‘How long have you been making songs?’

  Caleb didn’t want to be having this conversation. The whole car was listening in.

  ‘Um, for a bit.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to come around and show us sometime. I still remember when you and the gang would come over and we would go for ice-cream. Gee whiz, how time flies. We always thought you had a thing for Ella back then, too!’

  ‘Mum! Can you just drive, please?’ Ella yelled. Caleb went all sorts of red. Damo didn’t say anything.

  ‘Fine, no conversation it is, we can just listen to the radio.’ Ella’s mum pressed the radio button and sound filled the car.

  WESTLAKE, YOU MAKE MY CHEST ACHE

  ‘Turn it off!’ yelled Ella and Caleb simultaneously, and a very confused Mrs Westlake followed their instructions.

  Luckily, before any other disasters could happen, the colourful festival gates rose up out of the bush in front of them.

  They had arrived.