The Hush Society Presents...

by Izzy Matias

  "Take care," she says as I turn and to the farthest corner of the station.

  I slump on the wall and take a deep breath.

  This is what Dad warned me about—his deepest fear for me—yet here I am. Living it.

  It’s the thought of having to get home that pushes me forward. I spot a nice looking gal and approach her. Before I even sit down, she shuts her book and narrows her eyes at me. "You. I saw you earlier. Don’t think you can roam around asking people for their spare change. I’ll report you to security!"

  I jump back, not expecting her outburst. "Sorry," I mumble. I don’t want to get kicked out off the train station too. I flee to the other end of the station.

  Maybe I can try again later when there is a new wave of people waiting for their train. I spot a secluded waiting area, sit down, and close my eyes to get some shut-eye. When I awaken from my deep slumber, it’s past dinnertime.

  At night, the station’s fluorescent lights cast a haunting glow that makes the place look abandoned. The walls haven't been painted in a while, so most of the wallpaper is peeling and there are clumps of dust forming in some of the corners of the walls.

  My stomach cramps from hunger. I stand to look for the new crowd near the food stalls to ask for spare change. Do I use up the last of my balance to buy a meal or save up what I have left for a train ticket?

  I’m about to approach a young couple when one of the train station personnel gives me a suspicious look. I've been at the station for more than twelve hours and have seen him more than a dozen times roaming the area. He may report me to security and then where do I go?

  My hunger overpowers the logic to save up for a ticket. I end up buying the cheapest thing I can find: a corn muffin. I have a few pounds left.

  Exhaustion hits me as I sit down and devour my meal. I contemplate how much of an attitude change I need. I need to get a grip on how I react to rejection and challenges. I always act on impulse and it hasn’t been the best way to react to situations.

  When I check the clock on the wall, it reads nine twenty-six. Do I risk getting kicked out of the station? Someone’s probably already noticed my overstay. The wait for a train doesn’t take more than a couple of hours and I’m certain someone will figure out soon that I’m using the train station as temporary shelter.

  The same station personnel walks by from afar. He spots me then looks as if he’s about to approach me. I pull out my mobile and before I can talk myself out of it again, I press Mum’s number.

  I wish there was another way to get back home, but their isn't.

  The first step is to face my pride. I've already dug myself a deep hole...surely ringing Mum for money can't be any worse than risking homelessness at the train station, where I can be kicked out at any moment.

  It rings only twice before she answers.

  "Cameron, darling!" she sounds jolly good. That tone is about to change in a matter of seconds. "How’s the tour?"

  "I’m coming home," I say with a morose tone and sigh. "It’s…over."

  The station personnel halts as he sees me on the mobile. He must have heard me say I’m going home, so he leaves me be and turns the other direction.

  "Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home earlier?" She’s panicking. "I have to prepare a good meal for you. I can only imagine what sort of things you must be eating on tour!"

  I sigh again. "Mum…"

  "What is it, dear?" she asks, noting my tone.

  "I’ve made a right mess of everything." My voice cracks. "With Benji and Eric, my tour mates, Cassie…both my guitars have been nicked and to top it off, I don’t even have enough money to go back home." I don’t tell her today I’ve become a vagabond. It’ll only worry her more. "I was foolish to think I could succeed at this. You shouldn’t have risked your marriage for me. I’m nothing but a massive loser."

  "Oh, Cameron." Her voice is gentle, but full of understanding. "It’s a risk I’m willing to take over and over if it means a chance for my children’s happiness. No one ever succeeded on their first try at anything. The trick is to keep fighting for your dream."

  I want to embrace her because words are not enough to express my gratitude and love for her. But what I don’t say is this hasn’t been my first try, and I’m tired of trying. "I’m sorry," I tell her instead.

  "Come home," she says.

  They’re the words I need to hear. A lifeline to hold onto even if I’m uncertain whether or not I’m allowed back home. I’ll figure it out once I’m there.

  I ask how everyone is. She gives me a quick update how Tamara’s made it to the top of her class, Timmy’s joined the football league, and Dad’s been more swamped at work than ever. She doesn’t tell me how they’re getting on, but I suspect it’s to lift the mood of our call. Before she puts down our call, she tells me she’s transferred money to my account, so I can go home. I swallow down my guilt and promise to pay her back.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  I knock hard on the door, unsure of what lies behind it.

  Thanks to Mum, I’m back in Beverley. Dad would have gotten mad at me if I asked him, but we aren’t on speaking terms. I don’t know if I’m still banned from home, but I risk it anyway because I miss my family.

  This is the biggest foul-up I’ve had with my mates since College and it’s all my fault. I couldn’t stand staying there what with an unspoken riff between us. I’m not certain if Cassie’s "don’t even bother coming to the music festival" meant Manchester. If she meant don’t come to the culminating music festival, then I really have made a mess for The Fortunate Only.

  What will Cassie tell Callum or his mates from the Willowfields Music Festival if they ask about us? And what will she say about Ear for Music?

  I don’t even know if my mates still want to be in a band with me. Everything I risked leaving home has gotten me nowhere. I’m left with a dented friendship with my best mates, Cassie not speaking to me—I’m not sure where we stand anymore—and zero cash. Correct that, I’m in debt after getting a loan from Mum.

  I knock once again, louder.

  Part of me is terrified to find out how Dad is going to react to me coming home like this since we haven’t spoken in months.

  I almost pound a fist at Mum as she opens the door. "Oh, darling," she yells, pulling me into a tight hug. She smells of coffee and freshly baked bread. "Welcome home."

  "Am I allowed inside?"

  "Don’t you fuss about that! We haven’t seen you in months. Jim has to let that issue go. You’re home now—that’s what matters." Once she lets go of me, she straightens my washed-out, wrinkled grey shirt and pats my cheeks with both hands. "We’ve missed you so." Her cheeks are roses and she looks happier than she has been in the past couple of months. Have she and Dad stopped their daily rows and made up?

  I crack a grin and almost ask with a playful tone when Dad appears in the hallway. His jaw is tight.

  Is he going to yell at me to get out of the house?

  Go off in a row?

  But what he does isn’t any of the above. He pulls me into a swift hug. Not bone-crushing or oozing with maternal instinct like mum’s, but it catches me off guard.

  "Son." He says it like it’s the final note and then turns around to walk to the kitchen. I’m left at the door, face-to-face with Mum.

  I look at Mum, whose eyes are glassy. Her chest puffs out in pride. "Talk to him. He really misses you." She pats my cheek and I nod.

  I search for him in the kitchen, but he’s not there. I find Dad in his office. He is seated in his lazy boy reading a book about finance. He’s seen me, but doesn’t look up from what he’s reading.

  I sit down on the couch and wait.

  The silence bothers me, so I start drumming with my fingers on the nearest piece of furniture, which so happens to be the bookshelf.

  "Are we still not talking, then? Am I still not allowed home?" I ask. "‘Son’ was a step up from the months of silence."

  Finally, Dad puts down the book. I expect
him to respond with irritation or disappointment, but what surprises me is the look of guilt.

  Guilt!

  Of all things.

  I don’t understand where it’s coming from, but it’s like a switch inside of me has snapped. The weight of the rejection, disappointment, and hurt oozes out of me. I’ve tried to ignore it the last twenty-four hours, but now, looking at Dad’s broken face, I crack open. "I’m sorry," I say.

  For wasting time and money.

  For constantly messing up and aggravating them further when they have their rows.

  For risking everything for nothing.

  For being a failure.

  I say sorry to him, but mean it to everyone I hurt in the last couple of months.

  "You can say I told you so," I continue. "I had it coming. You told me not to choose music, but I did, and look where it’s gotten me." I was homeless for a day. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to be hungry for days…to be so cold from not having a place to stay during the winter.

  "No need for I-told-you-so’s," he says, surprising me even more. "I’m sorry, too. I was critical of you. Of course you’re welcome back home. That was me trying to prove a point to you. I should have known that you’d do music no matter what. Once you set your mind to something, nothing gets in your way."

  Not entirely true. The kraken unleashed itself yesterday and it was horrible.

  "It’s how I was—err, still am," he continues. "It took your mum moving out of the house to make me realise how set I am in my ways."

  My jaw drops. "You two are getting a divorce, then, aren’t you?"

  He shakes his head. "She’s not getting rid of me that easy."

  I laugh. "Has she moved back in?"

  "Only because you’re back, but I’m working on my charm….and trying to let my hard head crack open."

  "It’s my fault," I say, feeling all colour drain from me.

  "You damn right know it’s been a long time coming. What you did added insult to injury, but it would have happened just the same."

  "How are Tamara and Timmy taking it?"

  "Timmy’s being a real sport about it. Tamara’s shut herself in her room, revising and cramming for her exams."

  "We deal with difficulty in different ways."

  "Rightly so," Dad says. "What are you going to do now?"

  So he knows about the fall-out. I sigh, relieved of being the one to break the news to him.

  I could spend the rest of my life jumping from one nine-to-five to the next, but the sensible thing to do would be to be a proper adult and get a degree. I sabotage my own success. And I don’t want to unleash the kraken anymore. It’s better to shut him off where he can’t hurt anyone.

  "I’m going to Uni," I announce.

  Dad’s eyes light up. "You can get a Student Finance loan to pay for Uni. You’ve got to learn the hard work it takes to earn."

  The tour, at least, has taught me that much. "I knew you’d say something of the sort, which is why I’m going to the factory to ask for a full-time job. Maybe I’ll look into that management training program you were telling me about. That should earn me the money to pay for my Student Finance loan. And pay back Mum for my train ticket home."

  "You can apply for funding." He beams at me. "There are loads of grants available."

  I snort. I’ve never been an ace at school, but with Dad this excited, it’s the lifeline I need to follow through with my decision.

  "The worse they can say is no," he continues.

  Ugh. So more rejection awaits. The thought of it sends me spiraling into more self-doubt. "I’ll skip the grant and stick with the student loan and job first. I don’t even know what I want to study yet. I’ll figure that out when the time comes."

  "I’m proud of you, son. You’re owning up to your mistakes and handling this with responsibility."

  I shrug. All I want to do is crawl to my room and sleep. "I’ll talk to you later, Dad. My batteries are empty, if you know what I mean," I say, getting up.

  "Of course." He repeats twice. "I’m proud of you. Really proud of you."

  I don’t know what there is to be proud of, really. It’s weird being back home after months of being away. How can a place look the same, but feel so different? I am home, yet a stranger at the same time.

  I trudge up the stairs.

  Right.

  Onto the next order of business before I officially konk out on my bed.

  Tamara’s room is the nearest to mine, so I start with her. As Dad said, her door is shut. Muffled rhythm and blues music blares from inside. I knock hard, but she doesn’t answer. I let myself in as I push past the books, clothes, shoes and all of her other stuff strewn on the floor.

  She turns around from a vine of books—startled—and almost falls off her chair. I burst into a fit of laughter.

  "We haven’t seen each other in months and the first thing you do is laugh at me," she says, trying to keep a straight face on, but dissolves into giggles before going back to her straight face.

  I sit on her bed, staring at her. "All right?"

  She shrugs, going back to revising. "Dad’s finally let you come home. About time. You’re as thick as he is."

  "Love what you’ve done to the place," I comment, noting how she’s let her room turn into Tartarus’s pit. "You sure you haven’t gone off the trolley?"

  "What’s it to ya?" Her eyes look puffy and bloodshot—like she hasn’t slept in days.

  "Why didn’t you tell me about Mum and Dad?" I say, careful not to step on a landmine.

  "Doesn’t matter. Mum’s back. You’re back. Everything’s sorted now."

  "Naw."

  "I don’t have time for this. I’ve got a massive exam coming up," she says, and pushes me away.

  Months ago, I would have stood up and left her alone. "There is time," I say.

  "What?" She gets up from her chair.

  "You heard me." I step on the blinking red button, preparing for the blast.

  She crosses her arms over her chest. "You storm out of here in the wake of Mum and Dad having the biggest row in months, expecting we’ll all be welcoming you with arms wide? You get kicked out because you refused to go to Uni, then you go off on your big journey! I said it was all right at the time, but it was horrible once you left. They’ve been at each other’s throats with this and that! And then Mum left. You lost touch. I had to pretend that it’s normal for the sake of Timmy, who by the way puts on the bravest front, but I know he’s not all right. And now you come back, like this… Don’t think I haven’t heard about your foul-up. Serves you right for leaving us!"

  We sit in the aftermath, the aftershocks settling in.

  She sits beside me. "You were supposed to prove him wrong." It comes out as a whisper.

  "I knew you still loved me." I crack a grin.

  Her eyes roll and she bursts out laughing. "I hate you."

  "Only you’re allowed to hate me the way you do."

  She pulls me into a bear hug and I know that even if things are askew, they’re on the path to being sorted. "You drive me mad, you know that?"

  "It’s the only thing I’m good at."

  "Come back when I’m not a bitch." She pats my head and shows me out her room. "And we’ll have a proper conversation."

  "I am sorry," I say. Her lock clicks into place. Next thing I know, I’m falling backward. "Ouf!"

  "Cameron!" Timmy beams at me. Should have known. The little bugger. I grin. "You’re back! You’re back!" He tells me everything I’ve missed since I left—leaving out the part about Mum moving out—as he helps me up and leads me to my room. "You must have had such an ace time." He sits on my bed as I unpack. "My mates say that you must have had a brilliant time touring, meeting loads of people and chatting it up." His eyes are shining. "I’m so happy Dad’s let you come home."

  My little brother talking about flirting. My, my! "Lots has changed around here," I say.

  "Tamara says one day you’ll be playing at the O2—that’s a pr
estigious music venue, as I researched."

  I hate to disappoint him, but who knows if I’ll ever play again.

  "We have tickets to your music festival in Manchester," Timmy brags.

  I’m off colour. "Mum and Dad paid for ‘em?"

  He shakes his head. "Some girl rang Mum a few weeks ago and asked her if we wanted tickets. Said she was the organiser and could get us in for free."

  Cassie.

  My chest tightens and my shoulders slump.

  "She was really nice," Timmy says as if she’d spoken to him too. Maybe she had.

  I clear my throat and this stops him from rambling.

  "Sorry. You must want to get a kip before dinner," Timmy says and slides off my bed. "I’ll be back to wake you." He shuts the door and I’m left alone with the person I loathe the most.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  A couple of days later, I leave for the factory in a button-up and tie. It’s an uneventful bus ride to the factory and when I arrive, the sky lights up. This reminds me of the time Cassie and I walked around Brighton until the dawn caught up to us. I’ve left her a couple of messages and rang her mobile, but to no avail.

  I sigh. A puff of smoke materialises in front of me. I can’t move on knowing things may never be sorted out with her. I regret how I wrecked my relationship with Cassie. More than being able to call her my girlfriend, I miss her friendship. She is a good person to be around.

  At least I’ve got a job?

  Ha. One step forward to society’s mould of the perfect plan.

  The factory looks as it did, but older and smaller. I never thought I’d be this desperate to go back here, but given the circumstances, I’ll take what I can get. URadio could have been an option, but I have no desire to show my face there. No doubt they’ll have heard about my fall-out. It’s a small town and word goes around fast even if I’m certain neither Benji or Eric would spread the news.

  Aside from Benji asking me if I made it back to Beverley, I haven’t talked to either of them in days. Enough for me to be able to know that there is no more future with The Fortunate Only or being involved with Ear for Music, since all I’ve been getting is radio silence. Who knows if my foul-up not only means a fall-out with my band, but with my best mates, too. Benji’s worst fear come true. At the same time, I’m too ashamed to try to see anyone face-to-face right now.