Whiskey Lullaby

by Keren Hughes

  He looks almost pained as he speaks. It’s not my business, but I’d say he’s got something on his mind that he’s trying to outrun. I know the look all too well, having seen it reflected back at me in the bathroom mirror every day for the first couple of years after Angelo died.

  I still see it every now and again, but less frequently these days.

  “Well it’s not like it’s the biggest town, but if you need a tour guide …”

  “I might just take you up on that,” he replies with a smile.

  “Well, you know where to find me,” I say with a wink, which I regret immediately, so I rush back to the bar. I was in such a rush, I forgot to take his money, but I’m too mortified to go back over there now.

  “Who’s the new guy?” Damien asks, startling me.

  “Jeez, way to give a girl a heart attack, boss,” I say with a palm to my chest.

  “Oh, get over it already. So?”

  “So, what?”

  “New guy.”

  “Oh, umm … his name is Rhett.”

  “He just passing through or here to stay?”

  “How the heck should I know?” I ask a little too defensively.

  “Isn’t it a barmaid’s job to make small talk? You know, a bit like a hairdresser asks you where you’re going on holiday.”

  “All I know is he’s staying at Audrey’s, so I’d assume he’s passing through.”

  “Well crack open a bottle of the good stuff and he might be persuaded to drink here instead of Denny’s.”

  “The good stuff?”

  Damien hands me a bottle of Johnnie Walker and grabs a glass from under the bar.

  “In fact, I may go over and introduce myself. Rhett, you said?”

  “Yeah.”

  Damien pours two decent measures of JW and walks off in the direction of our guest.

  I wipe down the bar and head to the washer to grab more clean glasses. After restocking the shelf with more mixers, I look up and see that Deb needs a hand. It seems the evening crowd are about to descend.

  ***

  After a long evening, I’m wiped. Getting home to complete silence, I realise how much I missed Hardin while I was away. He stays with Mum whenever I have to work a night shift, but I really wish that wasn’t the case tonight, having spent the last couple of days away from him. I guess I’ll have to make it up to him tomorrow when I take him out for burgers and shakes at his favourite place, The Roadhouse, over in Pedmore.

  Deciding I need to relax, I head up to run myself a bath. I pour in my favourite scented bubble bath, before stripping and testing the temperature with my toes.

  As it warms up nicely, I slide down under the bubbles, grab a flannel and soak it before folding it and putting it over my eyes as I rest my head back.

  The only thing that could make this bath complete would be a glass of wine. Oh, and maybe some nice chilled out music.

  As the water cools, I pull the plug and wrap myself in a towel. My thoughts turn to next weekend’s live music and how I can get the night off work. Nothing gives me more of a headache than the bands Damien books. What would it take for him to book somebody who plays something more than indie rock? I mean, it’s no wonder we’re losing custom to Denny’s. This town is probably sick of the same old songs rehashed by different bands. I don’t mind indie rock, but when it’s all I hear two weekends out of every month, I get fed up.

  I pull a fresh pair of pyjamas from the drawer and make sure my phone is on charge on the nightstand. Seeing a text from mum, I open it.

  >Hardin was in bed by 8pm. Hope you didn’t work too hard tonight. See you in the morning. Love you. Mum xx

  I decide not to text her back because it’s too late, but I’m glad to know Hardin is okay.

  It’s time I went to bed myself, so I slip under the duvet and turn off the bedside lamp.

  Chapter Four

  Brent

  A brisk morning walk shakes off the cobwebs from last night. Having Damien’s company last night meant drinking more than I’d intended. He’s a cool guy. He told me if I’m still around that I should drop in next weekend to hear some local band play. I won’t lie, it would be cool to hear live music again, even if it isn’t my own. In fact, especially since it isn’t my own.

  Finding a place to sit at the edge of the river, I sit and listen to the birds in the trees. Music comes so naturally to them, which reminds me how much of a struggle it’s been for me recently.

  I slip my phone out of my pocket and dare to turn it back on. Too many missed phone calls and unread texts taunt me, plus that little red icon that says I have a voicemail, probably tons of them left by Gordon. I turn it back off immediately and put it back in my pocket.

  A voice interrupts my internal thoughts about what comes next.

  “Beautiful isn’t it?”

  I turn to look at the person and realise it’s Damien from the pub.

  “It is. So tranquil. I could sit here all day.”

  “How are you enjoying your stay so far?”

  “Great, yeah. It’s a lovely little town you have here.”

  “I bet it’s not what you’re used to at home, hey?” he asks with a chuckle.

  “Yeah, you could say that. It’s nice to have a bit of quiet time every now and then.”

  “If you are after a bit more life than you find here, Pedmore is a few miles that way,” he says as he points in the general direction. “Do you have a car?”

  “No. I didn’t think to rent one at the airport.”

  “Well, I’m off into town this afternoon to go to the wholesalers, so if you want a lift, come by the pub around twelve.”

  “That would be great, thank you.”

  He offers me a smile and a nod before turning to walk in the opposite direction. He waves backwards over his shoulder and then leaves me to the peace and quiet.

  I might as well take him up on his offer. It might have been better if I’d rented a car at the airport, but I couldn’t risk using my driver’s licence and credit card under my real name, and of course you can’t pay by cash.

  While I’m in town, I can see if there’s somewhere to grab a pay-as-you-go SIM card for my phone. I’ll text the boys in the band my number but ask them not to give it to Gordon. I know I’ll have to talk to him eventually, but I’m not ready. I don’t want to hear his speech about breach of contract or letting down the band and the fans, not to mention the pound signs in his eyes which is his main concern. He’s losing money. But I can’t help him with that, not right now. Maybe I never will again. I just don’t know.

  ***

  Damien drops me off in the town centre, telling me to text him when I’m ready to leave and he’ll see if he’s around to take me back. I try telling him I’ll call a taxi, but he won’t hear of it.

  I’m wondering around aimlessly, just window shopping. It beats sitting in my room at the B&B, and there’s only so much to see in River’s Edge.

  There’s a newsagent advertising the sale of SIM cards in the window, so I slip my baseball cap a little further down over my eyes and head in. After grabbing one and topping it up, I head back out into the sun and take a seat on a low wall around a statue in the middle of the town.

  I slip my phone out of my pocket and message the boys, using a group chat on WhatsApp. Of course, their first response is a flood of Where the hell are you? and What are you doing?, along with How long until you come back?. Then Jude brings up the topic of Gordon.

  I reply, trying to evade the Gordon subject.

  >I can’t tell you where I am or how long until I come back. As for what I’m doing, you all know I’ve burned myself out lately, so I’m taking a hiatus.

  Jude asks:

  >And just what do we tell Gordon?

  >I don’t know. Tell him whatever you like, but you are not to give him my temporary phone number if I give it to you. You have to promise me.

  Ash responds:

  >New number? Dude, WTF?

  >Just trying to dodge unanswered
calls, texts and voicemails. Plus, he’s probably got a bloody tracker on my phone, knowing Gordon.

  >You’re probably right, but you should call your mum, she’s been going out of her mind.

  >She knows all about it actually. If she’s going crazy, it’s for all of you and Gordon’s benefit.

  >Good to know you’re still a mama’s boy :P

  >I called her before I left and again when my plane landed.

  >Plane? Dude, you’ve left the country?

  Ash is clearly as perceptive as ever.

  It’s not like Evan to be quiet, I guess he’s either not around or he’s just reading the conversation. One thing Evan Winslow is, is calculating. He’s always playing the long game.

  >Thank fuck Evan isn’t here telling me to get my ass back on a plane this instant. I type, trying to bait him.

  Ash replies:

  >He’s probably trying to figure out how to find out which plane you got on and where it was going. He’ll jump on the next plane and drag you back home by your ear.

  Evan chimes in at long last:

  >I’m here, fuckers. I’m just waiting to see what’s said. I’m also trying not to rip Brent a new one.

  Jude replies:

  >Look at you being mature for once.

  He’s the joker of the pack. He’s always in trouble with Evan for something.

  Evan is the ‘daddy’ of the band because he’s a good five years older than the rest of us. Me, Jude and Ash were in the same year at school, but Evan was already in college by the time we started high school.

  He’s a great guy, don’t get me wrong, but he’s so stern and stoic. I like to think it’s because he’s not getting laid enough.

  >Fuck you, Jude. Where are you, Brent? You’d better come up with an answer for Gordon soon you know.

  >All in good time. I need some time and space. So, if you can’t give me that, I’ll give the boys my number privately and ask them not to give it to you.

  >Jeez, calm your titties, Brenda. It’s all good. I won’t ring you constantly and I won’t tattletale to Gordon. I’m not all bad, you know?! I do have a heart.

  Jude replies:

  >Yeah, you bleed compassion buddy.

  Evan tells him to fuck off before he beats the crap out of him, and once they stop bickering back and forth, I give them my temporary number.

  I turn my mobile data off so that I’m not interrupted by notifications. I won’t even bother logging into social media while I’m here. And it’s not like Tinder will show many fish in this particular pond.

  Walking around a little while longer, I spot a guitar shop and stop to admire the Stratocaster in the window. It makes me miss the cherry red one I left at home. This one is sleek and black. It’s beautiful.

  The guy in the shop notices me, so before I can draw attention to myself, I set off at a brisk pace.

  Once I’m safely away from the beautiful guitar, I stop to take stock of where I am. Not that I can get my bearings in an unfamiliar town, but because I’m thinking of calling Damien. I see a little bookstore, an independent place rather than a big chain kind of place. As if by some gravitational force, I find myself drawn towards the front door.

  There’s a tinkling sound as I open the door and the person behind the till looks up.

  “Good afternoon,” he says, his tone friendly and bright.

  “Good afternoon,” I reply with a small nod.

  “Is there anything I can help you with?”

  “I just thought I’d come and browse until something takes my attention, if that’s okay?”

  He smiles and nods at me and goes back to his book on the counter.

  I wander around and look for the fantasy section. Once I find it, I pull out a copy of The Hobbit and admire its cover. It’s an older edition and I find myself lifting it to my nose to inhale the scent. There’s just something about the smell of a book.

  I don’t have much free time these days, and when I do, I don’t spend it reading. I used to, before the band really took off. But these days, I’m busy writing songs and practising with the guys.

  Slipping the book back into place, I look around for something to take back to the B&B with me. I spot a copy of The Last Wish, so I pick it up and take it to the guy at the till.

  “Ah, good choice. Have you watched the Netflix series?”

  “Not yet, I just haven’t found the time. Too busy with the day job.”

  “Well, you know what they say about all work and no play,” he jests.

  I laugh, and he rings up my purchase before slipping it into a paper bag.

  “Yeah, I’m owed some downtime. I doubt I can get Netflix at the B&B though, so I’ll settle for reading it instead.”

  “I didn’t think you were a local. Where are you from?”

  “Leeds.” The lie rolls off my tongue before I can stop it.

  “You don’t have much of an accent, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  I guess it’s too late if I do mind, but I know he’s just being friendly. I’m so used to lying to people about where I come from, not wanting fans to know where they can find me.

  “I guess I don’t,” I reply, with a smile to let him know I’m not offended. “I moved around a lot as a kid and I travel for work, so …”

  “Oh, I see. Are you staying in town long?”

  “I’m not actually sure yet. I’m staying in the next town over, but not sure whether it’s a long break or not.”

  “River’s Edge? Nice little place to take a break. Quiet, but then that’s ideal for people who want to get away from the hustle and bustle of city life.”

  “It’s a change of pace, for sure. Nice little place though.”

  “My niece works in The Lock. Beautiful lass with long pink hair by the name of Caleigh.”

  “Ah yes, we’ve met. Met on the plane actually, then again in the pub.”

  “Lovely lass. Her son is my only great-nephew. Handsome boy. Got his mother’s looks, that’s for sure.”

  I didn’t know Caleigh had a kid. But then we haven’t really talked much apart from small talk. And there were many things I omitted to tell her, so I can hardly blame her for not telling me her life story. I’m many things, but I’m not a hypocrite.

  “I can’t say as I’ve had the pleasure of meeting him yet.”

  “Oh, well if you do, please tell him hello from Uncle Ted.”

  “I will.”

  “Actually, would you mind giving Caleigh a message if you see her?” he asks as I turn on my heel, about to leave.

  “Sure.”

  “Just tell her that Miriam is away for another week or so at her mother’s.”

  “No problem, I’ll be sure to tell her.”

  “Thank you. My wife’s mother had a fall, you see, so she’s been called to her side to look after her. She’s already been gone for three weeks.”

  “Oh, that’s terrible, I’m sorry to hear that, Ted. You must miss your wife.”

  “Boy do I? She’s a far better cook than I am,” he replies with a wink.

  A chuckle escapes me. It feels good to talk to someone who hasn’t got the foggiest idea who I am. Refreshing.

  “I’ll be back for book two in the series if I finish this one while I’m here.”

  “Sure thing. We’re open six days a week. If I’m not here, it’ll be my assistant, JoAnn.”

  “See you soon, Ted. I’ll let you know if I manage to watch The Witcher.”

  “Aye, good lad. Have a good day.”

  “You too, Ted.”

  I offer him a wave before turning and making my way back out into the sunshine. Damn, I really should have bought a bookmark. Guess I’ll have to use the receipt. I refuse to dog-ear the pages.

  I pull my phone from my pocket, find Damien’s number and press call.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey Damien, it’s Rhett.”

  “Hey buddy, still in town?”

  “Yeah, just left One More Chapter. Was going to call a taxi but reali
sed I don’t know the number for a local one.”

  “I’d rip you a new one if you called one when I’m still around anyway,” he says with a laugh. “I’m just leaving the wholesaler. Give me ten minutes and I can meet you where I dropped you off.”

  “Thanks, buddy.”

  “Not a problem. See you in a few.”

  I bid him goodbye and slip my phone back into my pocket as I head off in the direction I came from.

  Passing by Strings and Things again, a feeling of melancholy runs through me. I wish I’d brought my Stratocaster from home. I mean, I came here to get away from all that, hence why I left it on purpose. But there’s just something about it that makes me long for some fresh song inspiration.

  That’s part of the problem. I seem to be completely burned out. I spend my days and nights writing, then scrapping and rewriting lyrics. Nothing seems good enough anymore. It was easier when it was just the boys and no record label.

  Vox Records had our demo from Gordon, which got us a deal with them. That was six years ago now. Six years of being lead singer and guitarist. Six years of writing most of our songs. Of course, now they have to appeal to the public, not just to us lads anymore. So there was a slight shift in gearing our music to a larger audience. Not that we did badly before, just needed a few tweaks here and there. But having sold multi-platinum singles and albums worldwide in that time, it all seems like it’s been done before nowadays.

  We’ve done some covers in our time. “Friends in Low Places” was an obvious choice. It really suited Evan’s voice and it’s such a well-known song. “Peaceful Easy Feeling” was another track we covered, but only on the album, not as a single. Then there was the song we took our band name from, though why we chose such a morose song to name ourselves after, I don’t know. “Whiskey Lullaby”. Again, it was an album track. Gordon will only let us release original songs as singles.