We ended with our upbeat new song, ‘Northern Streets’. The crowd got really into it, singing along with the chorus:
Northern Streets got that northern beat
Feel the dancing beneath your feet
It was our last song, and I really let rip. Marysia’s thumping bass sounded almost like a drum. As we got to the last line, Toni turned and smiled at me, and circled her finger to say, Play it again, so I kept strumming, and the audience kept singing. Florian and Julia were lapping it up, clapping their hands and beaming round as if to say, We know the band.
We’d felt in rehearsal that this song was lively and catchy, but I don’t think we were prepared for the audience to like it so much. I crashed down the final chord and then leapt back as the bottom E-string broke and sprang up in my face. We ended the song laughing.
Toni hugged me with one arm and Marysia with the other as we got down off the tiny stage. ‘You’ll have to get those new strings now,’ she said, and the lovely feeling of her arm round my waist made up for her bossy tone.
I walked home with Julia and Florian – ‘I’m sorry, but I’d be far too scared to drive round those streets,’ Toni said, not quite so rock and roll offstage. I didn’t mind. To be honest, it was pretty nice to bathe in their admiration, even though it segued into a long description of the music scene in their town in Germany, including a countdown of their top ten gigs.
As we passed the old warehouse which always gave me the creeps, Florian looked round and, even though the street was empty, lowered his voice. ‘You’re kind of a cool guy, aren’t you?’ he asked.
I shrugged modestly.
‘We’re looking for – you know. Someone to buy some stuff from.’
‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘I wouldn’t know. I don’t—’
‘We only want a little weed,’ he said.
I shook my head. A cat jumped out from a broken plank in the warehouse door, making us all jump. Julia nuzzled into Florian. ‘I wouldn’t have a clue,’ I said honestly. ‘And whatever you do, don’t ask Mervyn. He’s totally against drugs. Like … pathologically. And if you get what you want, don’t smoke it in there or you’ll be thrown out.’
Florian looked amused. ‘That wouldn’t be such a hardship. Anyway, we leave on Saturday evening. We go to Dublin.’
‘Well, then, you’ll get whatever you want there.’ I mentioned a few bars where he’d probably find what he wanted, and we walked back to the hostel.
28
It had to come. Deepest Fear Friday. Why was I even bothering to try to play? My cramped, cold hands slithered on wet strings, and the streets were deserted. Anyone with the choice was at home or in a nice warm café, or just dashing from shop to shop, umbrellas up and heads down. But I was skint. Quite literally not-a-single-penny skint. And soaked. I gave up busking and went into shops where at least it was warm and dry, but walking round shops with a heavy guitar case and no money, with your wet jeans sticking to you, and people eyeing you suspiciously, is about as much fun as it sounds.
The only thing getting me through the day was the thought of rehearsal that evening. The last one for a week because it was half-term and Marysia was going to Poland to see her granny. I wished it was at Toni’s, instead of Marysia’s, but at least there’d be people and something to do, and Marysia’s hot strong coffee. I could have gone back to the Crossroads and had some food, but I couldn’t be arsed to walk all the way there and then on out to Marysia’s. They were in opposite directions.
By the time I turned into Marysia’s street, the rain was easing off. A blue car slowed beside me, swishing through the puddles at the kerb, and the passenger window slid down.
‘Get in,’ Toni said. ‘It’s only a couple of minutes but it’ll be better than nothing.’
I tossed my guitar into the back seat, and folded myself into the passenger seat. There was a large brown envelope on it.
‘Don’t drip on that,’ Toni said. ‘It’s our contracts for the Backlash final.’
‘Contracts?’ My stomach flipped over.
‘Just boring stuff mostly. About procedures on the night; not being signed to a record company; not making a full-time living from music. As if!’ She laughed. ‘There wasn’t all that fuss about the first round, but I suppose it’s getting more serious now. Remind me to get you to sign tonight.’
I blew my wet hair away from my face. Her hands on the steering wheel were confident, the nails turquoise like the first time we met. We hadn’t been alone together since the morning after the kiss. At least panicking about the contract stopped me thinking about the awkwardness of that.
‘You should have got the bus,’ Toni said. ‘You look like you’ve been out in that all day.’
‘Most of it.’
‘Why didn’t you stay in? You could be taking that free-spirited troubadour vibe a bit far.’
‘They don’t let you. There’s a lockout until five.’
‘That sounds a bit grim.’
‘Nah, it’s grand.’ I shivered. ‘I’ll be glad to get somewhere warm and dry though.’
Marysia’s shed wasn’t exactly warm, and it was only dry in the sense that it had a roof and walls. Damp clung to the air.
‘We can’t keep practising in here in winter,’ Toni said, hauling her guitar strap over her huge blue woolly jumper. ‘We’ll all get pneumonia.’ She touched my anorak. ‘Wow, that’s soaking. You shouldn’t sit around in it.’
‘It’s only the outside. I’ll freeze to death if I take it off. When is Queen Jane going to let us practise at yours again?’ I asked hopefully.
Toni shrugged. ‘She’s just not that keen on music,’ she said. ‘I suppose it reminds her of the bad old days.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘When my dad filled the house with layabout musicians and hopeless dreams.’ She bit her lip. I knew she didn’t like talking about her dad. Was he a free-spirited troubadour too?
‘I know what’ll warm us up.’ Marysia reached past some tins of paint and gardening stuff on the shelf on the wall and brought out a bottle of dodgy-looking Polish vodka. After the slightest hesitation, I took a slug from it. It burnt a path down my gullet, and made me gasp.
‘Let’s get started,’ Marysia said. She seemed jittery, not her usual mellow self at all. Maybe she wasn’t looking forward to a week away with her family.
‘Northern Streets’ made us jig around a lot, and after we’d gone through it twice we were all shedding layers. But I couldn’t concentrate. I fluffed a couple of chords, forgot to come in on backing vocals.
After the fourth mistake Marysia lost her temper. ‘Look, Cal, you need to take this seriously! You can’t play like that in the final. And your D string is way out of tune. I can’t believe you can’t hear it.’
‘I do bloody take it seriously.’ I clenched my jaw and twisted a tuning peg.
‘That’s not even the right string! You’re not on something, are you?’ Oh great, so Toni had clearly blabbed to her about me being in there.
I slammed my guitar down on a chair, making Marysia wince as it resounded twangily. I immediately felt awful: my guitar was the most precious thing I had. Its busking career had made it look slightly scruffy but not abused. I ran my hand down the neck as if in apology. ‘For fuck’s sake, no.’
‘OK! Don’t have a hissy fit.’
‘Marysia.’ Toni sounded annoyed. ‘Lighten up!’ She put her guitar down and came up to me. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked. She put her hand on my arm. ‘It’s not like you to make mistakes.’
And it wasn’t like Toni to sound so sweet, and I didn’t know if I could take it right now. But I didn’t brush her hand off. ‘Bad day,’ I said. ‘I haven’t eaten. I’m sorry.’
‘You shouldn’t skip meals,’ Marysia said. ‘Or drink on an empty stomach.’
‘He had about two sips.’
Their voices seemed to be far away even though the shed wasn’t very big.
I breathed out a small dry laugh, and sat down in the cha
ir with my guitar on my lap. I rubbed my hands over my face. ‘Look, I – it wasn’t deliberate. I just didn’t make any money today. You know – because of the weather.’
‘You mean you couldn’t afford to buy anything?’
I ran my finger along a string. ‘I suppose.’
‘Oh God, Cal, I’m so sorry,’ Toni said. ‘Bit of empathy failure on our parts there.’
I looked at her face and saw, in the softness of her hazel eyes, that she felt sorry for me, and it was horrible. I’d much rather have had her pissed off.
‘Marysia, could you go and scrounge something from your kitchen?’ she said. ‘Something hot?’
‘Of course. We had mushroom soup for dinner. I think there’s some left over. Why don’t we all go up to the kitchen?’
I’d never been in Marysia’s house before. The kitchen was warm – hot, after the shed, and once we all piled in, crowded. There were kids’ pictures fastened to the fridge door, a pile of ironing on a chair. A pot sat on the hob. Marysia lifted the lid and nodded. ‘Plenty left,’ she said. ‘I’ll get you some bread, too. Toni – do you want to put the kettle on?’
Marysia’s mum, Halina, came in to see what we were doing, and there were stilted introductions. When Marysia said she was heating soup for me, a little crease came between Halina’s eyebrows and she said something quickly to Marysia in Polish, which made Marysia frown. I didn’t even try to mother-charm her. All I could think about was the smell of the soup filling the space. My stomach let out a loud, embarrassing gurgle.
I couldn’t understand Polish but it was obvious what Halina was saying: Don’t use too much of that soup. I hope that’s not the fresh loaf?
‘Cal,’ Marysia said when Halina had gone. ‘Have you actually got no money? Like at all?’
I spooned soup into my mouth. God, it was the best thing I’d ever tasted. ‘Tomorrow’ll be grand. Saturdays usually are.’
‘I said this would happen if you relied on busking,’ Toni said.
‘What about paying for the hostel?’ Marysia asked. She sipped her coffee.
‘No, that’s sorted.’ I smiled to show that it was all cool. ‘Paid up until the final anyway. Three weeks. And after that – well, who knows.’
‘Look, you’re only here because of Polly’s Tree,’ Toni said. ‘We can’t let you starve. I can give you—’
‘No.’ I put my spoon down.
‘Lend, then. A few quid. Come on, Cal. It’s an investment in the band. We need you fit for purpose.’
‘You could get a job?’ Marysia suggested. ‘That’s what people normally do.’
Yeah, I thought, and people normally have IDs and references and addresses.
‘We should all go busking tomorrow,’ Toni said. ‘For the craic. We could go to Bangor. Let Cal see the Northern Irish seaside. I can probably get Mum’s car again.’
‘I’ll be on my way to Poland,’ Marysia reminded her.
‘Well, you and I could go, Cal, couldn’t we?’ Toni grinned at me. ‘A day out? Busking by the sea, fish and chips? It’ll be like a holiday. Before I get down to a lovely half-term of studying. Oh,’ she went on, ‘that reminds me, Marysia – we need to get that contract signed and sent off, with you going away.’
I didn’t let myself think about spending a whole day on my own with Toni at the seaside.
Just like I didn’t let myself read the Backlash contract. What was the point? There were three copies. I just flicked through to the back page of each one and signed the lie: Cal Ryan.
29
The novelty of busking wore off pretty quickly for Toni. She huddled in her purple duffle coat.
‘It must be time for a break,’ she said. ‘There’s a lovely café over the road – see? With gingham curtains. We can look out at the sea.’
I bent over and peered into the guitar case. ‘About three quid,’ I said. ‘That won’t get two cups of tea.’
‘I have loads of money.’ Toni tapped the pocket of her coat. ‘Come on. This was meant to be a bit of fun.’
I turned to her, puzzled. ‘This was your idea. You know I need the money.’
‘But you can keep whatever we make. I mean, I’m only here to help out. I don’t want your money.’
‘There won’t be any money if we keep stopping for cups of tea! Come on – another hour and see how we go.’
An old man stood and listened for ages, eyes intent on my flying fingers. After three songs he walked away.
‘Mean old bastard,’ Toni said. ‘Does he think the music’s free?’
‘The music is free,’ I said. ‘We didn’t ask permission to be here. He didn’t ask us to play. He doesn’t have to pay us.’
‘Yeah, but he took all that music for nothing.’
I shrugged. ‘Maybe he had nothing.’
‘Well, it’s lunchtime. And you know how grumpy you are when you don’t eat. Come on – fish and chips. My treat.’
The sun was shining, so we went down to the seafront and sat on a wall looking at the boats, blowing on our chips to cool them. I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed the sea until I smelt the salt in the air and saw the pewter sheen of the water. I inhaled the salty vinegary smell and felt the tension in my shoulders from too many hours with a guitar round my neck slacken. We tried to decide which boat we’d take if we were going round the world.
‘You could just go and busk in every port,’ I said. ‘Stay until you got fed up or your money ran out. You’d never need to pay for a bed because you’d always have your boat to go back to. It’d be amazing.’ But I didn’t mean it. I was just saying what a free-spirited troubadour was expected to say.
‘To be honest,’ Toni said, ‘I get seasick.’ She packed up her fish-and-chip paper.
‘Me too,’ I said. ‘Come on – we’ve got songs to sing.’
* * *
‘You in a rush?’ Toni asked, as we walked back to the car park later. She’d been quiet all afternoon, apart from singing.
I shrugged. ‘Not really.’ I don’t think she realised how empty my life was apart from Polly’s Tree.
‘We could go down to the beach at Ballyholme? Mum wants the car back for this evening but we’re OK for a couple of hours.’
We stashed the guitars in the boot and Toni drove a short distance. The beach was long, curving round beneath an old wall, overlooked by tall pastel-coloured houses. It reminded me so much of Dublin Bay. We parked the car and walked down crumbling stone steps. The tide was far enough out that we could walk on the sand. It was strange to be walking without the familiar heft of my guitar pulling at my shoulder, and on waving ridges of sand instead of hard pavement. Though – beach, pretty girl, sun going down – it was very hard not to take Toni’s hand. The last time I’d been on a beach had been in summer with Kelly’s friends. I rolled my shoulders inside my sad anorak and leaned my head back to feel the salty air on my face. A black dog ran into the sea and stood there, barking.
‘It’s harder work than I imagined,’ Toni said. ‘Busking. I don’t know how you do it all day every day.’
‘Ah, it’s not all bad,’ I said automatically. ‘Days like today are easy.’
Neither of us mentioned the days like yesterday, and the possibility, as autumn tipped over into winter, of there being more of them.
‘You work hard too,’ I said. ‘Are you really spending most of half-term studying?’
She sighed. ‘Have to.’
‘Is it worth it?’
She shrugged. ‘It keeps my mum happy.’
‘Does it make you happy?’
‘It’s a lot of pressure. But yeah, it’ll be worth it in the end. This time next year I’ll be at uni somewhere. That’s kind of exciting.’
‘Oxford?’
‘Maybe. Or Durham. Or Manchester. Or Bristol.’ All these English cities I didn’t know much about.
‘Where’s Marysia going?’
‘Queen’s. They can’t afford for her to leave Belfast.’
She didn’t say she would
miss her, or that the band would have to break up. For the hundredth time, I wanted to ask about their relationship, but I didn’t want to hear Toni’s voice actually telling me she was gay. Especially not now, on the beach, with streaks of red and purple slashing through the grey evening sky, like the first time we’d met. And Toni wasn’t grumpy with me, or sorry for me, or any of the things I hated seeing in her face, just happily walking along beside me with her hands deep in the pockets of her purple coat, humming when we weren’t actually talking. As days go, it had been pretty perfect.
The desire to take her hand was so strong I had to force myself to do something more than walk and talk, so I started looking on the sand for interesting stones and shells to distract me. And that’s how I saw the perfect shell – small, worn smooth, and the most delicate shades of pink and purple. It was as though the entire evening sky was inside that one shell. I didn’t know what kind of shell it was, but it winked in the fading sunlight and I picked it up.
‘What is it?’ Toni asked.
I wiped it on my jeans. Even dry, it still shone. I held it out to her. ‘A present from Bangor,’ I said. I kept my voice light. I knew it was a bit corny, giving her a shell. I thought she’d look at it and put it in her pocket and forget it, or even just throw it back where it had come from, but she held it in her hand, and said, ‘Thanks Cal. I’ll keep it for a good luck charm.’
‘For Oxford? Or Backlash?’
‘Both. Everything.’ She smiled, and took my arm, just in a friendly way. Her body leaned into mine. ‘I’ll drill a hole in it,’ she said, ‘make it into a necklace.’
‘You might break it.’
‘I’ll be very careful.’
If I’d known what was about to happen I wouldn’t have given my luck away, not even to Toni. Then again, it would have taken more than a pretty seashell to make any difference.
30
I got Toni to drop me on the edge of the city centre.
On the way past Cash Converters I hesitated and fingered my watch strap. It might be worth knowing what they’d give me for it, just in case things got desperate. I went in. It was like a normal shop except it sold a weird mixture of stuff – from lawnmowers to cameras. There were even some guitars hanging on the back wall – a couple of cheapies like the old Westfield I had lying around in Ricky’s house, probably discarded by beginners who hadn’t been able to get past the throbbing fingertips stage, but also a really nice black Fender Stratocaster. I flipped over the price tag – not that I needed an electric guitar – and it was £299.
Street Song Page 12
