We get to the studio at eleven, after too little sleep and only a cup of coffee to get us going. This doesn’t seem to matter to Shay. He’s pumped, and his energy is contagious.
Rogue has recorded in this same studio since they started. It looks to have been recently renovated, though, as the enormous angled soundboard filling the front room, along with the computer and monitor at its center, is new technology. The walls have a fresh coat of white paint and the place smells conspicuously clean, as if someone made special preparations for the band’s arrival. They are practically royalty in the music business, so I guess that treatment makes sense.
Shay introduces me to the yokes at the soundboard, two engineers they’ve worked with for many years. There’s no need for their long-time producer Roger Ahern to be here for these early sessions. Large speakers are amplifying the guitar Conor is playing in the hardwood floor sound booth we can see to the left.
Of course, Mr. Perfect would already be here. He’s got headphones on but is his normal well-styled self in a white tee shirt that clings to his chest under a red and white plaid flannel and black jeans.
“Better late than never, Seamus!”
We turn to see Gavin arriving, his eyes bright and a playful grin on his face. This isn’t their first day in the studio. Apparently, Gavin was too eager to start and couldn’t wait for Shay to come in, so they had him on video chat from San Francisco yesterday while they tinkered with new ideas.
“Fuck off,” Shay tells him without malice, and the two hug.
It never ceases to amaze me that these guys embrace each other so often. They’ve known each other since they were only little, spend more time together than is healthy, and still like each other.
“DB, good to see you,” Gavin says. He surprises me by giving me a quick hug. As he pulls away he meets my eyes. “Everything good with you?”
It’s clear as day to me what he means. He’s asking about Jules. I just hope Shay doesn’t read anything more into the inquiry because I don’t want him to know about all that.
“Yeah, good,” I say. “Just here to see how it all works.”
“Cool. Glad to have you.”
He claps me on the back as he starts to move past me. Then he stops abruptly and turns back. “Oh, fair warning, mates—I have to cut out at about four o’clock.”
“You wanker,” Shay says. “After giving me such a hard time about not being here yesterday?”
Gavin laughs. “Yeah, well. I’m taking Sophie for a night out. She’s finally past that morning sickness thing, so I want to treat her to something special.”
“If it’s for Sophie, then okay,” Shay says.
My brother has some sort of connection with Sophie, which is evident in how easily he’s changed his attitude now.
“Where will you take her?” I ask, and all eyes turn to me.
I suppose it’s an odd question coming from me. But my recent dating fails have left me curious at what other people do.
“Eh, well, I’ll tell you, it’s dead romantic like. I’ve got a plane chartered to take us to Venice. Got a nice dinner and hotel set up there. We’ll be back after lunch tomorrow.”
I should have known Gavin wouldn’t be doing something normal. He and Sophie are not your average couple.
“Sounds lovely,” Martin says, joining us. “Daisy going with you?”
“No, she’ll stay with the nanny. Just a quick trip,” Gavin says. “Anyway, let’s get to it.”
As is their habit, the guys all fall in line when Gavin makes his requests of them. He’s the lead singer for a reason.
I spend the rest of the day in the studio, leaning over the shoulders of the sound engineers, picking their brains for how the dozens of sliders on the board affect things. It fascinates me, and I soak it all up, sensing a new addiction could be upon me. Maybe it makes more sense to try to learn this side of things. I might be getting too old to climb those lighting rigs, anyway.
Though the guys are deep into piecing together a new song based around the guitar line Conor had been playing when we got there, Gavin is good on his word and leaves at four. The rest of us take the opportunity to order in food. As I join in on the fish and chips, I realize that they’re all treating me like it’s a given that I should be there. I feel like one of them, part of something bigger than myself. And fuck that feels good—to not be concerned with only myself. Thinking back, I realize this was the attitude when we were all on tour, but I had always assumed that vibe had an expiration date on it. I figured once the tour was over, so too would be the inclusion they offered. I’m only now realizing that once these guys have given their friendship, it’s not easily lost. Even for me.
We’re all gathered around the sofas and chairs that sit in front of the soundboard, using the scarred wood coffee table to eat off. I look around at Conor, Martin, and Shay. They’re engaged in an easy banter, never at a loss for conversation, whether it’s about their recent travels, sports, new music they’ve discovered, or anything in between. Shay was right about them being his brothers. What luck to have found them.
“And what have you been doing with yourself, Danny Boy?” Shay asks me. “I haven’t been very good at keeping in touch.”
“Hmm?” The question catches me off guard. My head had been elsewhere, but I also don’t know what to say. I glance at Conor and he’s watching me with interest. Martin is occupied with opening another bottle of Smithwick’s Ale.
“Can’t say I’ve done a whole lot,” I hedge.
And then, as if she’d orchestrated the timing of this herself, Jules lets herself into the studio.
42
“Hello, fellas,” she says with a nod.
The guys all stand to greet her. I do not. I stay where I am and scramble to think what the fuck I’m going to say. And how I’m going to get her out of here before she embarrasses me in front of my brother.
“Haven’t seen you in forever, Julia,” Martin says.
“Julia,” Conor says.
Shay gives her a smile.
Then everyone waits. Waits for her to say something. Waits for me to stand and join them. I still don’t make a move.
“Looks like I caught you at a good time. Dinner break?” she says. But her eyes travel beyond the group, searching. She’s not here to fuck with me. She’s not here to try to force a way back into the music industry. She’s here to see Gavin.
I finally stand and shuffle closer. I feel Conor watching me before turning his gaze to Shay, then back to me.
“Yeah, we’re just grabbing a quick bite before starting back up,” Conor says.
“Gavin’s not here,” I say.
Shay looks at me curiously for volunteering this information but doesn’t say anything.
“No?” she asks.
“He left early. Won’t be back tonight.”
Jules takes a moment before responding. I can see she’s conflicted. She had probably come here hoping to stir things up and Gavin’s absence has thwarted that plan. Would it be worth her while to out me instead? My confession that I hadn’t told Shay about her is something she could use against me and we both know it. She could easily air all our dirty laundry at this very moment and in doing so drive a wedge between me and my brother. And she’d do it for the same reason she did all the other destructive acts where I was concerned—to exploit my weaknesses and make herself feel empowered.
“Well, he’s not who I came to see—” she starts but Conor interrupts her.
“You still singing, Julia?” he asks.
“Eh, no. I stepped away from all that some years ago.”
“That’s a shame. You ever want to try your hand at it again, you can call on us.”
I’m confused by Conor’s generous offer. But when I see the way it makes Jules smile, how she’s beaming at the idea, I realize Conor was deliberately dangling a shiny object in front of her to distract her from what she was obviously about to do. Instead of allowing her to reveal our history, he’s preying upon her
ambitions to make it clear that she has a choice in how she proceeds. If she chooses to try to lash out at me, she would lose any offer from Conor to help her later.
“That’s so sweet. Really appreciate that,” she says, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Well, we should get back to it,” Conor says.
“Oh, right, sure,” she says. She smiles and nods, and then she locks eyes with me. “Maybe you can let Gav know I came by? I still think about him, you know?”
God, she’s cruel. So much so that I can’t help but smile. “He’s taken his wife on this lovely romantic getaway for the night. But we can mention it when he’s back,” I say.
She holds back a laugh. There’s no misunderstanding what we’ve done—it’s one final jab at each other. A confirmation that though we weren’t good together, we did understand each other.
“Take care, lads,” she says and shows herself out.
When Shay and Martin go back to their instruments, Conor stays behind.
“You all right, then?” he asks.
I nod. “Thanks for that, man. That whole thing is done and over. I … I guess you know I never told Shay?”
“Appeared that way.”
“Why didn’t you or Gav ever say anything?”
“Not our business. And I think you asked us both to keep it quiet, right?”
“Yeah, but—”
“When a friend needs your confidence, that’s what you give him,” Conor says and nods to put the matter to rest.
“I just … I don’t understand.”
“What?”
“I’ve fucked you over, Conor. Why would you go out of your way for me?”
Conor watches me for a moment. “Don’t you know?”
“Know what?”
“Whether I like it or not, you’re one of us, Danny Boy.”
“I know I’m a pain—”
“You’re one of us,” he repeats. “It’s as simple as that. It means that whatever fuck ups you commit, that’s not something that’s going to get you cut lose. We’d all of us be on the outs if we allowed that sort of thing to ruin us.”
Like Gavin earlier, Conor claps me on the back. There’s an incredible sense of reassurance in it.
43
It’s just past nine o’clock when Shay takes a call on his cell. We’re all still in the studio but had been winding down. I can see my brother through the glass, but I can’t hear his side of the conversation through the speakers, since the engineers muted the sound to give him privacy. It’s clear enough Shay is reluctantly agreeing to something and I wonder if Jessica is on the line, talking about hopping on a plane to join him here. That would disappoint me, I have to admit. I’m quite enjoying this time with Shay.
But when he comes out to the front room, he announces that Gavin has asked him to go to his house to relieve the nanny who has fallen ill with food poisoning.
“He says Daisy is down for the night, that he just needs someone to be there when she wakes in the morning,” Shay explains to me, Conor and Martin. “Says they’ll come back earlier than planned tomorrow.”
Martin laughs. “Why’d he call you, do you suppose?”
“He’s Daisy’s godfather,” Conor says. There’s a trace of bitterness in his voice that he can’t hide and I suspect it has something to do with the still not-quite-healed rift in his and Gavin’s friendship. Sleeping with your best friend’s wife will do that.
“That, and I suspect Sophie’s trying to be clever,” Shay says. “She’s dying for me and Jessica to join the baby club.”
“Well, you enjoy the gig, yeah?” I tell my brother.
“Fuck that. You’re coming with me, Danny Boy.”
The nanny looks positively green with nausea and is gone in a flash once we arrive.
“So,” Shay says, “I guess we should look in on Daisy?”
“Why are you asking me? I know exactly nothing about kids,” I tell him.
“Let’s go.”
He leads me down the hall and finds the right door. Daisy’s room is decorated in soothing shades of cream with pink accents. There are photos of Gavin on the wall at her eye-level so she can gaze upon him while in her crib. That must have been something Sophie did while he was away on tour so that the kid could feel like her Dad was around. She’s sleeping peacefully now, on her back, in the crib she’s on her way to outgrowing.
“Should I take a picture of her,” Shay whispers, “to send to Gav? Let him know all is well?”
“I dunno. Is that creepy?”
“How about if I stick my head in the shot? So, it’s like ‘I’m here’ and she’s okay?”
I laugh, and he shushes me. “That sounds even creepier. Fuck’s sake, just text him that we’re here.”
Nodding, he turns and starts typing on his phone as he leaves the room.
We make ourselves comfortable in the living room, finding that there is a video baby monitor on the coffee table between us. We can see and hear Daisy via an ingenious night vision camera stationed somewhere in her room. I’ve got the better seat on the sofa, facing the wall of windows looking out to the sea. The lights of the Dalkey coastline are lighting up the night and it’s a spectacular view.
Once Shay’s had his say with some back and forth texts, he puts down his phone and looks at me.
“So,” he says, “you’ve been fucking Julia O’Flaherty, have you?”
“What? No,” I lie, and he just stares at me. “I mean—fucking Quinn. He did tell you.”
I should have known he was bullshitting me with all that hearts and flowers friendship nonsense.
“No, Conor didn’t tell me about her, and now I have to wonder about that, too.”
“Well, then,” I stammer, “how did you know?”
“Because I’ve got two fucking eyes, haven’t I? It couldn’t have been clearer, just being in the same room as you two.”
“Oh.” I relax and reconsider my condemnation of Quinn. I guess he was telling the truth. And now I have to really accept what he said about me being one of them. That is, unless my brother is angry enough to want me to steer clear of his group of friends after this.
“But I take it whatever you had is over now? That much was obvious, as well.”
“Completely over and done,” I agree enthusiastically.
Shay is quiet as he watches me. “What all went on with that?” he finally asks.
I give him the abbreviated version, focusing mostly on the fact that we both knew, in the end, that we weren’t compatible. That’s a whitewashing of the truth, I know, but I never did want to admit to Shay all the ways I was looking for trouble with Jules. He would see it as proof for his need to worry about me and feel the need to return home, jeopardizing his relationship with Jessica once again.
“Was she after you to get to Gavin?” he asks when I’ve concluded.
Though it’s the exact same question I had at the beginning of my time with Jules, and many times after that, I’m offended that Shay has the same thought.
“What, am I not attractive? I thought I was pulling off a better look these days.”
“Don’t try to be cute about this, Danny Boy. I’m asking because I need to know if she’s a threat to my band.”
Of course, that would be his priority. Shay has always made it clear his band is the most important thing to him, giving me short shrift in the process.
“How’s about caring about your dear brother first off?” I ask, unable to resist falling back on my tried and true method of guilt-tripping my baby brother. It’s a tactic I used often over the years, mostly when I needed money or his time to help me when I bottomed out. I haven’t felt the need to do this in a long time, however, and it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It feels cheap, like it’s … beneath me.
“You should be thinking in the same terms,” Shay continues, ignoring my attempt at manipulating him, “now that you have a real interest in Rogue.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means, you’re p
art of the crew, aren’t you? We rely on you. I should think you’d want to be sure we’re solid—if only for your own sake.”
“Well, yeah, I do want that. I’d never do anything to threaten the band, Shay. Don’t you know that?”
He gives me a look of disbelief that I don’t quite track.
“You think I would?” I ask.
“I think you have, that’s the thing. Like when you stole Conor’s guitar?”
Thinking back on that escapade makes me laugh. It was one of those things I did on impulse. I just grabbed the guitar right out of the storage unit that was being packed up at the end of the tour. At first, I just wanted to have a closer look at it. Then, I realized no one was around, so I walked it right out of the Dublin 3Arena. Once I had it in hand, I knew I couldn’t really keep it. But giving it back seemed more dangerous than what I ended up doing, which was trying to sell it. That turned into quite the cockup. Mr. Perfect nearly lost his legendary cool, he was so angry with me.
“That’s ancient history,” I say. It does feel like forever ago. I recognize that behavior, but I don’t identify with it anymore, if that makes any sense.
“Then there’s the time when you came crashing into me and broke my fucking wrist.”
The vision of slipping off the ladder and swinging wildly down onto Shay at his kit flashes in my mind. Again, I can’t help but laugh. I did know how to make things interesting.
“Always a laugh, yeah?” Shay asks wearily. He’s tired. Exhausted, actually. He came in from the States and never properly rested to rid himself of jet lag. Now this to further burden him.
“Listen, you have nothing to worry about. I know you can’t help yourself, but I’m not after hurting the band. I won’t hurt the band.”
Shay watches me silently, dubiously.
“Honestly. For the first time in I don’t know how long, I feel invested in something. That’s you lot. And I will do everything I can not to fuck it up.”
It takes a moment, but finally the expression on his face morphs into relief. I’m sure mine does, too.
44
A sharp rapping noise startles me awake. I’m completely disoriented as I wipe drool from my mouth. I see Shay asleep in the chair across from me. Dead to the world, he sits with head lolled to the side, arms slack on the armrests and legs spread wide. I slowly realize that we’re at Gavin’s. The full reason for this escapes me, however, as I stretch out on the sofa, closing my eyes to return to sleep.
Looking For Trouble Page 17
