Life is Sweet

by Cathy Cassidy

‘Not this year, though?’ Dad argues. ‘It’s too late to apply now; term must be starting in a week or so.’

  ‘I applied in January,’ my brother says. ‘They offered me a place and I grabbed it with both hands. I’ve been trying to tell you ever since …’

  Mum steps forward with a well-timed mug of tea, aimed at calming the situation, but as she sets it down on the tabletop Dad slams his fist down, splashing tea everywhere and making his breakfast plate clatter.

  ‘NO!’ he roars at several thousand decibels. ‘No, Ben, I am not going to let you do this. You’ll live to regret it, and I will not let you ruin your life!’

  ‘But, Dad,’ Ben says reasonably. ‘It’s my life, surely? I’m not a kid any more, I’m twenty-one years old. I have thought this through long and hard, and it’s what I want. I’m sorry but I am going to do it, whether you like it or not.’

  ‘Over my dead body!’ Dad roars, and his arm swipes across the tabletop, sending the breakfast plate and the mug of tea flying across the kitchen to smash into the cupboards and splatter all over the tiles.

  ‘Go, Shay,’ Mum says, stuffing my rucksack into my arms and pushing me towards the door. ‘You too, Ben. Give your dad a chance to cool down …’

  I don’t need telling twice. I am out of there, grabbing my guitar and legging it out of the door. I’m running late already, and the kitchen drama hasn’t helped – unless I sprint I might actually miss the school bus and earn myself a late-mark for my trouble. I am loping along the path when I hear the door slam behind me.

  ‘Wait up, little brother,’ Ben yells. ‘You’re cutting it a bit fine, aren’t you? I’ll give you a lift. C’mon … I could use the company!’

  ‘OK – thanks!’

  Ben’s face is set, determined. He doesn’t say much as we pile into his beat-up old car and drive away from the kerb, just slides the sunroof back and slots an ancient Beach Boys CD into the player and turns the volume up to max. We drive like this for ten minutes, deafened by Ben’s favourite surf band churning out relentlessy happy sixties pop, before he relents and turns the volume down to bearable again.

  ‘I am going, you know,’ he says eventually. ‘I’m sick of him running my life for me, controlling every little thing I do. I didn’t know any better when I was your age, Shay, but I’m older now – I know what I want, and it definitely isn’t this.’

  ‘Dad’ll calm down,’ I say. ‘I think it was just a shock for him – it was for me!’

  ‘Yeah,’ Ben sighs. ‘Sorry. I should have said something to you. Mum told me to …’

  ‘Mum knew?’ I check, surprised.

  ‘Yeah, of course. She’s totally behind me. I’ve tried to talk to Dad about it loads of times, but he won’t listen – he just blocks me off, changes the subject. Mum was going to break it to him gently, but … too late now.’

  ‘Wow.’ I blink. ‘I always thought you wanted to run the sailing centre. I mean, I know that you wanted to be a footballer until you had that injury, but after that I was pretty sure you were set on the sailing centre. I really had no idea!’

  ‘That was all Dad too,’ Ben says, his eyes on the road. ‘I liked football, but it was his passion, not mine. I was good at footy, and Dad pushed me, so I went along with it … until Southampton dropped me from the youth squad. That’s when it all went pear-shaped.’

  ‘Yeah, the accident,’ I remember. ‘That must have felt like the end of the world.’

  Ben just laughs. ‘Shay … there was no accident,’ he says. ‘No injury. Southampton dropped me from the squad because in the end I wasn’t good enough.’

  My head struggles to make sense of this.

  ‘But you said …’

  ‘Dad said,’ Ben corrects me. ‘He told everyone I’d had an injury because he couldn’t bear to tell people the truth … that I just didn’t make the grade. He was ashamed of me, Shay. I’d let him down.’

  ‘Whoa,’ I say. ‘I never had a clue! I mean … you’re Dad’s blue-eyed boy, Ben! The favourite! He’s always been so proud of you …’

  ‘That’s what I always thought too,’ he shrugs. ‘But Dad’s such a control freak – he was only ever proud of me when I was doing what he said, and doing well at it. When things went wrong he lied to everyone to save face. How d’you think that felt?’

  I’m guessing Ben felt the way Dad’s always made me feel – a disappointment, a let-down, second best, but there is no comfort in knowing that my perfect big brother is not so perfect after all. I just feel sorry for him, and glad that he’s able to get out of Kitnor and follow his own path.

  I notice that Ben has driven right past the turn-off for Minehead.

  ‘Hey – you’ve missed the turning!’ I point out. ‘Better take the next left, or I’ll be late for school!’

  ‘You’re not going to school today,’ Ben says. ‘Lessons can wait. Dad almost ruined things for me, Shay – I’m not going to let him do the same to you. Sometimes you have to seize the moment – take the opportunities that come your way.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Take control of your own destiny,’ he says. ‘Look to the future.’

  ‘Ben, what are you talking about?’

  ‘Wrecked Rekords,’ my big brother says. ‘You and I are going to London!’

  8

  As kidnaps go, this one is pretty cool. The morning unfolds into a road trip, with lots of brotherly bonding and advice and a long stop for Coke and chips at a greasy-spoon cafe just outside Swindon. The two of us have never talked so much before, not properly – our friendliest exchanges have always been wind-ups and jokes.

  We’ve never been close – perhaps that was Dad’s fault, or maybe it was just the age gap, but now I am getting to know my big brother and I can see he’s not so very different from me. A couple of times I think of telling him about Cherry, but I don’t know where to start. I want Ben’s support, but not his pity.

  I guess I don’t need anyone else to tell me I’ve been an idiot. I already know.

  ‘Dad used to play football, y’know,’ he tells me. ‘Small-time, Sunday league stuff. It was his dream, though. That’s why he pushed me so hard – he thought he was helping me, but really it was all about him. His dream, not mine.’

  ‘Just like the sailing centre is his thing,’ I say. ‘And you’re turning your back on it. That takes courage, Ben – we all know Dad has a temper on him.’

  ‘We should have stood up to him years ago,’ Ben sighs as we cruise along the M4. ‘Just for the record, Shay, I’m sorry about the go-cart thing. I didn’t think you’d actually go and break your arm …’

  I laugh, and as we approach the outskirts of London I take the forms that Curtis Rawlins gave me out of my rucksack, where they’ve been hidden for the last few days, still slightly stained and now quite crumpled too. Can Ben really sign them for me, open up the doors to possibility again? Maybe. I hope so.

  Ben makes me navigate, using a dog-eared street map and his iPhone. We get lost about a dozen times before we finally pull up outside Wrecked Rekords’ Camden HQ.

  It’s like stepping into a dream – a dark, edgy, slightly psychotic dream. The walls are papered with silver foil and a collage of iconic album covers stretching back decades. A huge, shiny mobile made entirely from CDs spins silently in the stairwell, and framed gold discs line the hallway. Even the sofas in the waiting area look like they have been borrowed from a passing spaceship.

  The girl at the reception desk has fuschia-pink hair and a pierced nose, and she seems to be wearing some kind of cool fancy-dress outfit made from a checked tablecloth and a lace curtain. She looks at me doubtfully, taking in the school uniform and beanie hat, a
nd I flush a little pink.

  I push the crumpled forms across the desk towards her, and she looks at them dubiously. ‘We’d like to see Curtis Rawlins, please,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah?’ the girl drawls. ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  ‘No, but …’

  ‘You’ll need one,’ she shrugs. ‘No exceptions. Why not send in a CD, some demo tracks? Then you can ring in a few weeks and if Curtis and his team think you have potential we can set you up with a November appointment. Or December, maybe. Or January.’

  Or never.

  Stricken, I look at Ben, who rolls his eyes dramatically. ‘Don’t panic, little brother,’ he says under his breath. ‘Leave this to me. Watch and learn …’

  Ben leans across the desk in full-on flirt mode, his sun-gold hair flopping carelessly across his tanned face, his blue eyes intent. I am not sure that his beach-hunk looks will cut the ice with the pink-haired girl, though. She looks like she’d be more impressed with tattoos and piercings and a neon-blue mohican haircut.

  ‘Hey,’ he grins. ‘The thing is … we’ve driven all the way from Somerset. Four hours on the road, and all because Curtis wanted to see us. “Drop in any time,” he said. So we did. I mean, I know that rules are rules, but we need to see the guy now, not next week or next month or next year …’

  I hear the soft West Country burr in Ben’s voice and I can tell that his charm offensive isn’t working. I wonder why we didn’t just wear dungarees, wellies and straw hats because to this girl we must seem like real country kids, clueless, crass.

  ‘Aw, c’mon,’ Ben pleads. ‘You know what it’s like. We’ve got the forms. You can sort this out for us – save our lives. I’d be grateful – very grateful! I’ll buy you a drink after work if you like …’

  ‘No, thanks,’ she says.

  ‘Look, Curtis will see us, no worries,’ Ben insists. ‘He’s been in talks with my little brother here about signing for Wrecked. Shay’s going to be the Next Big Thing!’

  ‘They all say that,’ the girl says, going back to her computer screen.

  ‘No, seriously,’ Ben presses. ‘Curtis came all the way to Kitnor to see him. He’s already listened to the demo tracks, and seen him play live. He wanted to sign him, but there was a bit of a mix-up. Circumstances beyond our control. But we’re here to fix it now, so if you’ll just let us see Curtis …’

  ‘Can’t,’ the girl yawns. ‘He’s gone out. Not sure when he’ll be back.’

  My heart sinks. Ben’s attempt to save the day has backfired, failed. We’ve driven all this way for nothing, but looking on the bright side, at least I got to skip a day of being glared at and frozen out at school.

  We are walking out through the plate-glass doors when the miracle happens. A man in a skinny suit and a red trilby hat comes towards us, and when he sees me his face lights up.

  ‘Shay Fletcher!’ he grins. ‘Great to see you! Come in, come in …’

  He ushers us into the foyer and the fuschia-haired girl looks up from her computer screen, raising an eyebrow.

  I introduce Ben and we sit on the space-age sofas while Curtis fetches us fancy cappuccinos with chocolate sprinkles and thick wedges of shortbread.

  ‘So,’ he asks me. ‘What brings you all the way to London? Has your dad changed his mind?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ I admit.

  ‘Mum supports him, though,’ Ben chips in, and this is news to me. ‘She’s his guardian too, right? And I’ll look out for him if you need me to. He’d like to go ahead and sign up, wouldn’t you, Shay?’

  ‘Well, yeah … I’d love to,’ I say.

  Curtis smiles. ‘That’s great, Shay,’ he says. ‘So … you’re saying that your mum would sign for you, even if it goes against your dad’s wishes? Really?’

  ‘Definitely,’ Ben says. ‘Maybe. Well, possibly …’

  ‘No,’ I admit sadly. ‘I don’t think she would.’

  The look on Curtis Rawlins’ face says it all. We are wasting his time, wasting our own. Why didn’t I see that before?

  ‘Listen,’ Ben cuts in. ‘I’m twenty-one and I can take charge of Shay, look after him, sign for him … whatever you need me to do. Dad doesn’t understand and Mum won’t go against him, even though she’d like to … but I can be the responsible adult, surely? Not everybody gets offered a chance like this. I want Shay to take it!’

  I have never loved my brother more than I do right now, I swear, but Curtis sighs, and I know that Ben’s suggestion isn’t going to change things.

  ‘Thing is, you’re not Shay’s guardian,’ he says sadly. ‘His parents need to be on board, and … well, they’re not.’

  ‘He has a talent,’ Ben argues. ‘You said so … can’t you take a risk on him, bend the rules, just this once? Shay loves his music. He won’t let you down!’

  ‘I’ll do whatever it takes,’ I promise. ‘I’ve got a new song – it’s good, really good. Shall I play it for you?’

  Curtis Rawlins shakes his head.

  ‘I’d love to hear it, Shay, but … it won’t make any difference. There’s nothing I’d like more than to sign you up … but your age is against us here. I’ve been talking to my colleagues. Your dad doesn’t just have misgivings, he’s actively hostile to the whole idea. Even if your mum was totally on board with all this I’d be very wary about taking things further right now. When we work with a minor, we need to know that the family are in, one hundred per cent. In your case, Shay, we couldn’t rely on that, no matter how supportive your brother may be.’

  ‘So … what are you saying?’ Ben asks, frowning.

  ‘I’m saying … there is nothing I would like more than to sign you to Wrecked, Shay, but right now I can’t. Keep working – keep singing and writing. And come back and see me when you’re eighteen.’

  We shake hands with Curtis Rawlins and walk out of there with our heads held high, but inside I am shaking. I’m not sure I can take another knock without falling to pieces.

  ‘Sorry, mate,’ Ben says. ‘That didn’t go so well.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I sigh. ‘I’ve wasted your time … all that effort for nothing.’

  ‘It wasn’t for nothing,’ he grins. ‘I got to spend some time out with my little brother, even if I had to practically kidnap you to do it. I’ve had fun. And it wasn’t a waste – we know the situation now. You have something to work for, something to aim for.’

  ‘I guess,’ I say.

  ‘Definitely,’ Ben insists. ‘We tried, didn’t we? If you want something badly, you go the extra mile. You don’t just sit back and accept things, you do everything you can to make it happen. Maybe it didn’t work out this time, but if you keep believing, keep working, then sooner or later it will. Keep the faith. We gave it our best shot. No regrets!’

  I frown. Ben is talking about the record deal, of course, but he has a point.

  I think about a girl with glossy, blue-black hair, shining almond eyes fringed with long, sooty lashes, the sweetest smile. Cherry is my best friend, my crush, my confidante. Without her, everything is dull and pointless. Without her, my heart is in the gutter.

  I remember Honey’s advice from last night, Finch’s words from this morning.

  I messed up the best thing I ever had, and all over a tangle of lies and misunderstandings. I need to ditch the excuses and fix it up before it’s too late. I wonder if there’s time to meet Finch for a pep talk before facing Cherry, seeing as we’re actually in London. I pick up my mobile to message him and find it’s dead, out of charge. Looks like I’m on my own with this.

  What was it Ben said? If you want something badly, you go the extra mile.

 
9

  Ben and I mooch around Camden for a while, checking out the quirky stalls and eating pitta bread and falafel down by the canal in the sunshine. I remember Honey’s pipe dream of running away and starting a fashion stall here, and sigh. Ben buys a couple of T-shirts and I buy a second-hand silver chain with a cherry-motif pendant, hoping I get the chance to give it to Cherry. We both pick out mirrored sunglasses and drive out of Camden at sunset with the sunroof down and Ben’s Beach Boys CD blaring.

  We don’t get home till midnight.

  Dad appears in the doorway the minute Ben’s car pulls up, the anger rolling off him in waves. I can feel my shoulders slump.

  Today is the day I learnt how cool my brother really is, and the day I found out for sure that I will not be a fifteen-year-old teen idol signed up to Wrecked Rekords. It’s the day I discovered that the best things in life are worth fighting for, that if you don’t like something you change it.

  It was a life-changing day, but now, back home, it feels like nothing has altered at all. Dad unleashes his temper, ranting about how Ben and I have let him down, left him short-staffed, had everyone worried sick.

  Yeah, right.

  Following Ben down the garden path, I stop abruptly and turn, dropping my schoolbag into the flower bed and shrugging my guitar over one shoulder. I walk away, Dad yelling my name into the darkness.

  For once, I just don’t care.

  I walk through the silent village, street-lamp spooky, and out along the dark lane that leads to Tanglewood. The sky is scattered with stars and my eyes adjust quickly to the dark, but I am scared. What if it all goes wrong, if Cherry won’t see me, if Paddy and Charlotte set the dog on me or call the police?

  Don’t just sit back and accept things, I remember. Go the extra mile.

  What’s the worst that could happen?

  I push the gate open and crunch across the gravel, beneath trees hung with solar-powered fairy lights, a leftover from the summer. The house is in darkness, silent, sleeping. I hear Fred the dog barking from inside the house and Humbug the sheep bleating from his stable, but I walk on until I am positioned beneath Cherry’s attic window. Picking up a handful of gravel, I throw one small pebble upwards in a swift arc and hear the satisfying clink of stone on glass.