by Tom Butler
She worked for a department attached to the Home Office which specialised in bereavement and domestic issues within the prison and probationary services, her role being to make days like today as painless as possible for the immediate family members and to offer condolences as befitting the occasion. Not a line of work to appeal to most but one Audrey Herbert was perhaps born to excel in.
In spite of this, it didn’t need Einstein to work out that, like her totally subdued back seat passengers, she didn’t much care for the place she had arrived at either, but it was all for a purpose. She looked anxiously at her watch, and though they were there in good time, both James and Mary knew why the woman was showing concern.
The first question Mary had asked her over four hours ago was, ‘Where’s Noah?’ as it had been expected that he was to be picked up first en route to the Proudlocks.
‘There’s been a change of plan,’ she had said sheepishly, explaining it had something to do with a college rock concert in Southampton which finished last night. ‘He’s making his own way,’ she had added.
James had kept his immediate thoughts to himself, believing his brother was sure to bottle out. He even imagined the gig might have been invented to give Noah an excuse for not travelling such a distance the following day.
Audrey had no reason to doubt what she had been told. As far as she was concerned, he was getting an early morning train from Hampshire and then being picked up in a private taxi from Waterloo. The taxi company had assured her they would get him to Kent on time hence the onset of a worried frown and several more anxious glances at her watch.
‘Typical,’ Mary tutted, making sure she could be heard. ‘I bet he walks in half way through and spoils it.’
Almost as she said it, the hearse carrying her father’s coffin, bereft of any flowers edged slowly into view, and behind it, there was a plain white taxi with a solitary person in the back. James recognised his brother straightaway and felt a little foolish for doubting him.
Turning to Mary, he said, ‘It’s him. He’s here. Your big brother’s arrived.’
She screwed up her eyes in disbelief. It didn’t look much like Noah to her.
It had been such a long time since she had seen him, and she looked shocked. Never before had she thought him to be a thin person, and his hair had virtually exploded in all directions. It looked longer than hers, reaching his shoulder blades. She could barely see his face or know what sort of expression he was wearing.
He at least greeted her with a hug as she went across to him, but all James got was a cold shrug of acknowledgement. But they were altogether now, and Audrey Herbert could at last relax and organise them whilst they waited outside before following the trolley containing the coffin into the chapel. It seemed strange that they were the only people there apart from the funeral staff who all looked pretty much the same.
Once inside, words were at a premium befitting the occasion, and the lady Chaplain talked of God’s forgiving nature which at least seemed to strike the right chord. But no tears were shed over the departing sole of their father. They had all agreed that’s how it should be. Even Mary had managed to hold back the tears, and when the coffin disappeared behind a moveable screen, she gave out a sigh that spoke volumes. James bowed his head, but Noah just stared straight ahead. There was total silence, almost as if three young people had caught their breaths simultaneously in a last, definable gesture. Reunited in their grief. The final scene had been recorded, and none of them would want to remember it. Why would they? It would only rekindle the horror of what they had all been through. The pain was over.
Afterwards, they stood in a triangle, and a surprisingly unemotional Mary kissed both of her brothers and told them she loved them and always would. She hadn’t planned to say it, but it made both James and Noah feel humbled. James was impelled to hug his inappropriately casually dressed brother, and they held the embrace at least in respect of better times and were soon being hugged by Mary, eager to convey to them her hopes for the future.
With no little force, she said, ‘No more silly arguments and no more falling out over nothing or you’ll have me to answer to, understand?’
She was prone to be bossy, and the boys knew there was more to follow. Barely had she made her point, when she steadfastly drove it home. ‘From now on, we stick together and always be there for one another. Promise me that. No going back to the way it was. We simply have to stay in touch. Am I making myself clear?’
Her warring brothers knew that it was perhaps asking too much of them, but for her they would try harder.
‘A truce is fine by me,’ Noah shrugged. ‘I never started it.’
That sounded rich to James and he pulled a face, but along with his brother, he respected his sister’s wishes. How much she had seemed to have grown of late and how proud they ought to be of her. And how much now as she was on the cusp of blossoming into a young lady was she beginning to look like her mother, God rest her soul.
James had felt sure she would cry at the ceremony and again when it was over. But she hadn’t. This had said it all for him. Her budding character and strong will had shone through, and he felt guilty about the name-calling and animosity shown to Noah and assumed Noah felt it too. It had been a sad time for all of them. But the ordeal was over, and hopefully the cremation would herald the end of a dreadful nightmare and bring total closure. And cement a bond between them.
Seeing Noah after such a long absence made Sylvia Proudlock cry, and he hid his awkwardness well. Even Luke greeted him warmly having probably been ordered to let past issues lie. And Phillip could not have been happier to see the whole family back together again, whether temporarily or not.
Sylvia was particularly keen to know all about Noah’s life as a budding rock star, letting it be known that in spite of some crass bad behaviour in the past, how immensely proud she was of him and how much more mature he had become. This grated on James a lot, but he accepted that some of the praise was merited. He conceded that Hooded Eye was good, and they were getting even better with every gig, and in Melissa Murray, they had a real gem, someone whose energy would sustain them even when the other band members looked listless or made basic mistakes. Sometimes their concentration levels waned, and this had been something Jed Murray had pledged to eradicate along with their sloppy attitudes.
‘Can’t wait till you get to the O2. You will remember us if there’s any free tickets going,’ Phillip humoured him, not at all thinking it might be an absurd notion.
‘I’ll get you all in, no worries,’ Noah replied, his head momentarily up in the clouds.
‘You must tell us when you’re next in the area,’ Phillip went on, not really sure the sound they produced would be quite up his street.
Noah’s feet hit the ground again, and he consulted the diary he carried around inside his head. ‘I will, I promise,’ he replied, probing his memory. ‘There’s something happening in Coventry soon, about two weeks’ time. I’ll check and let you know.’
Sylvia had noted how tired Noah looked and how he had picked disinterestedly at his food whilst the others had devoured everything she had offered them. And she wished she could take a pair of scissors to him, to tidy him up.
‘You can stay over as long as you like, it’ll be just like it used to be,’ she fussed. ‘I thought it would be nice for us all to watch telly later. I think I have Jaffa Cakes and Wagon Wheels in the tin.’
‘Great,’ Noah smiled back at her, lost for conversation.
James ignored the attention Noah was getting. He could never accuse the Proudlock’s of favouritism as they had always treated everyone equally and not even put their own children ahead of the three interlopers who were not once made to feel like outsiders. A year or so ago, Noah had begun behaving irrationally, staying out late and sometimes never coming home, even sleeping rough on somebody’s floor and occasionally, weather permitting under the stars.
He even had a bit of a fall out with Ashley over his sudden new habits and
so called friends prior to successfully auditioning with Hooded Eye and impressing Jed and Melissa Murray enough to succeed over other applicants. Before that, there had been quite a few open mic sessions at pubs around Leicester; first with a band calling themselves Zombie Explosion which included twin brothers Ben and Jack who liked covering their faces in fake blood for effect and simply trying to look scary.
Then he tried out with an unnamed band who modelled themselves on Iron Maiden but sounded nothing remotely like the originals and had two delusional characters called Mo and Zak who shared a seedy bedsit above a Leicester Kebab shop. This was where Noah and other casual acquaintances had dossed down amongst empty pizza boxes, lager cans and used condoms and talked about revolutionising the music world until they ran out of meaningless things to say.
It was there that Noah had lost his virginity with a girl he could never remember the name of and smoked cannabis for the first time, though thank god that never became a habit he was fond of. But there was plenty of cheap supermarket alcohol, especially brain numbing white cider to be drunk, hence the few nights he spent crumpled in a shop doorway or unconscious on a park bench that no one else had claimed for the night.
To pay for such luxuries, he busked on the streets or scrounged off Ashley who despite their short falling out was never far away as if at least the long-time bond between them couldn’t entirely be broken. Ashley’s parents had encouraged their son to break it, saying Noah had been infiltrated by the devil and was no longer “best mate” material, but Ashley convinced them it was just a phase that would quickly pass, which had now proved to be right.
As James sat feet from Noah watching TV just like old times, sucking chocolate off a Jaffa Cake, he too wondered about the brotherly bond between them and whether it still really existed. Putting aside the issue of the song he still believed Noah had stolen from him and the emotion of the day they had just been through together, could this be a significant turning point in their lives. Would they ever laugh and joke together again and draw a line under their acrimony? Could jealousy and sibling rivalry give way to love and peace between them? Deep in his heart, he hoped it could. And for Mary’s sake, he wanted it to happen. Surely, it wasn’t unattainable.
He closed his eyes and thought about his real parents before the dark days descended. About picking bluebells with his sister and rolling down a grass bank with his brother and being told off my mother for getting their school uniforms grubby. About cycling down the canal towpath with their father at the rear, telling them not to get too close to the edge and to steer around the puddles and not through them.
The trips they made as a family to Alton Towers and the Great American Adventure and the week at Centre Parcs when they giggled and laughed and never wanted it to end. Summer caravan holidays in Dawlish, Paignton and Swanage where quarrelling over top or bottom bunk beds was quickly forgotten once they had sand kissing their toes and the waves of the sea inviting them in.
Then school sports days, prize giving, concerts and nativities. Treats at McDonald’s or KFC. The fuss made over them at birthday parties and the giant bouncy castle that once threatened to engulf their small garden. Their regular musical jam sessions where every Swan would play or at least make a noise from a musical instrument. Mary on her recorder, James on keyboard, Noah on guitar, Angelica on harmonica and Michael on trombone. The tape recordings that were made and the camcorder memories filmed.
Ordinary family life from another era that needed to be savoured and not forgotten or swept under the carpet because of a terrible, inexplicable tragedy that could never have been scripted in a million years.
James wondered if he should let go and let Noah win where the song was concerned. Make his peace and move on. He had shown he could do it again, and inside a folder he kept under his bed, there were many more jottings that could be songs with only a small amount of outside help and fine-tuning. Wes had seen the potential immediately and wouldn’t manipulate him like some might because of his age and creative naivety.
For all Noah’s bluster about Peaceful Man, it had not yet been assigned to anyone and remained a YouTube phenomenon, so perhaps it would never make the official charts. Hooded Eye did have a recording contract, and their first album Images were imminent with Jed adamant that another track written by his daughter called “I See Things” be released as the promotional single.
So James tried a compromise solution, approaching the subject from a different angle when eventually the brothers were alone, but Noah remained ever defiant. But for once he tried moderating his language.
‘Look, we’ve been over this a hundred times already,’ he said as politely as he could. ‘Why should I listen to you? And why suddenly involve somebody else? Why should I give two thirds of what’s rightfully mine away?’
James set about explaining his theory.
‘Because we were all there, and the more I think about it, Ashley deserves a third,’ he expanded. ‘Agree to a third each shares in the song, and I’ll stop claiming I wrote it. All I’m asking of you is for you to be fair. You were practically living with Ashley at the time, and he was there when it was originally written if you remember. Admittedly, he was fooling around and not really taking it seriously, but then neither were you. But whether you like it or not, he was around at the time, so I thought, why not, it’s the least we owe him.’
Noah thought about it.
‘We owe Ashley nothing. He couldn’t write his name, let alone a song,’ he said harshly.
‘He threw up some ideas. I think that’s worth something.’
Noah listened but wouldn’t move on the subject.
‘But my name’s already on it. It’s far too late to go changing things. I can’t go telling people anything else now, it’s done. I think it’s a stupid idea. Ashley hasn’t got a clue when it comes to music. He’s completely tone deaf. Ask him if you don’t believe me.’
James persevered.
‘It’s a minor change. Talk to Melissa’s dad. Come clean and just say you want to add our names to the credits for the song. What difference does it make if it was a joint effort? Think of what it might mean to Ashley. He’s been the best friend anyone could have. Am I right?’
James was dead right about the friendship angle, but the thought of giving anything away choked Noah. It was all about his street credibility and losing face.
‘It’s too late. It’s my song Bro. Nice try, but I won’t be swayed.’
James wasn’t for giving up yet.
‘Remember what Mary said after the funeral today? Do it for her sake. We shouldn’t be fighting each other. We should stick together.’
This made Noah sigh heavily, but he still didn’t like the idea of selling himself short just to build bridges.
‘Sorry Bro, what’s done is done. If you can’t live with that well—’
‘Don’t be so stubborn, Noah. You know you’re in the wrong over this. I’m giving you a sensible way out. Don’t be so bloody damned selfish. Do the right thing for a change.’
Noah huffed and leant forward. James knew what was coming. There was to be no deal or anything approaching a compromise. His language disintegrated to put an end to what he considered to be a disguised charade.
‘Bollocks to you and your shit schemes Bro. You need to wise up. You’re the one who doesn’t know the meaning of fucking right and wrong,’ he roared. ‘You’ve got some balls to try lecturing me about it. You need to get over this and forget about it. If we end up hating each other then it’s down to you not me. I’m doing nothing wrong. I don’t give a fuck what you think. You won’t change a thing. The matter’s closed. Don’t bother me with it again.’
James glared back at his brother in disappointment and disbelief. He had given him every chance. Now it seemed they would never see eye to eye. He had been given no choice. The Swan brothers were at war. He felt sad that it had happened on the day they had laid their father to rest so to speak, but at least, it had defined the direction they each were
heading in until their paths next collided. That day would come.
When, a few days later James told Wes Crowley that Noah wouldn’t play ball over Peaceful Man, his guitar teacher didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he gave all of his concentration to the new rather than let James fester over the old.
‘I’ve messed about a bit, and I believe I’ve found the missing ingredient,’ he said quietly and without wishing to appear boastful. ‘Have a listen and tell me if I’m wrong.’
He proceeded with his revised rendition of Black Orchid which now had a brand new guitar riff two thirds in and a less repetitive ending. Wes’s croaky voice almost gave up on him at the end but he got through it and waited.
At first, James stalled on giving out praise, unsure whether he should be flattered or not that Wes had seen fit to meddle with the song. But the fine-tuning had embellished the original and smoothed out the rough edges he had fretted over many times since he first penned the lyrics weeks ago.
‘Well, what do you think?’ Wes badgered him. ‘It’s still your song, lad. I’m not looking to steal it from you or claim credit for it. You wrote it. It’s your song.’
Without sounding in any way pressured, a thoughtful James said, ‘But you’ve improved it. And for that, you deserve a share. I love the guitar solo. I only wished I’d thought of it.’
Wes shook his head. ‘It’s your song James and a bloody good one too. What I would do now is make a demo tape and send it in to the local radio stations. There’s one that showcases new local talent. And at fifteen you certainly have talent.’
James allowed himself a smile.
‘I’ll only say yes if you agree to it being a joint effort.’
Reluctantly, Wes agreed. ‘If you insist,’ he replied.
What should have been a guitar lesson became a recording session, and Black Orchid was born. And in the following weeks, James brought along all of his jottings which amounted to another five songs, three up-tempo and two slow, heralding the birth of the Crowley and Swan song writing partnership and bigger things to come.
