by Debra Oswald
Ben plonked the cordless phone down and then mock punched Ash in the guts a few times. That’s what the Corrigan brothers did instead of hugging or any other kind of physical affection.
‘Wotcha been up to?’ said Ben, bouncing around the kitchen, hunting through the fridge for more food to scavenge. ‘Mum reckons you’ve been playing heaps of guitar. I wanna hear all about that, little brother.’
Ash had so much stuff he wanted to tell Ben: about the band, the music he was listening to, the Novaks, everything. There was so much to tell, it felt as if Ash’s brain might explode. But Ben was in one of his motormouth moods and it was hard to get a word in.
‘Had an amazing time up the coast,’ gushed Ben. ‘I was supposed to be meeting this guy but he got held up. That left me stranded up there with a temporary cash problem. So I lined up some work picking fruit. Only lasted one day. So incredibly boring, picking fruit all day long. Couldn’t hack it. But at the youth hostel, I met these backpackers. Ace people – Spanish guys, Danish, German. When I get organised to travel overseas, I’ve got invitations to stay with heaps of people over there.’
Ash could believe it. Ben had always been able to connect with people really quickly and be invited places. He was about to say something but Ben kept talking.
‘This guy I know up the coast – he operates a massive yacht. And I mean massive. The plan is, he teaches me the basics of sailing and then I help crew the yacht to Tahiti.’
‘Wow, that’d be –’ Ash began.
‘Yeah, it’d be excellent,’ said Ben. ‘And it pays top money, they reckon. But along came some big bastard storm – boat got damaged. So while it’s getting repaired, I thought I’d come back to Sydney for a spell.’
Ash wasn’t sure if the sailing-to-Tahiti story was totally for real. Sometimes Ben added details or convinced himself things were true, so that you never knew for sure what the real story was.
‘Well, you know, it’s good you’re back,’ said Ash. ‘Heaps of new stuff I’ve got for you to listen to and there’s this guy, Charlie, you should meet –’
‘For sure. That sounds excellent,’ Ben replied but his brain was obviously somewhere else. ‘Oh, hey, Ash, you got any cash on you? Mum’s asleep and I don’t want to wake her up. I just need to borrow a bit of money for tonight.’
There was no way Ash would let on he had nearly a hundred bucks in a Milo tin hidden in his room. He tried to save up a hundred for the guitar at a time and then put that chunk of money in the bank. Instead, Ash fished some money out of his jeans pocket.
‘I’ve got about thirty bucks.’
‘Oh, you’re a champion. I’ll pay you back, obviously,’ said Ben.
Ash knew there was no point holding his breath waiting for Ben to pay back the money.
Ben slid the money into his pocket and that was when he really started talking crap. Going off at the mouth about a ‘big chance’ he knew about. He had ‘insider information’ about some poker machines that were all set to pay big in the next few hours. Ben was fully expecting to win a lot of money.
‘Actually, ooh, I better get cracking if I’m going to get down there in time.’ Ben wriggled his feet into his shoes and headed for the door. ‘We’ll talk soon, yeah? I wanna hear about all your stuff, yeah?’
Ben flashed the killer smile and then he was gone. Ash hadn’t had a chance to tell him about the band playing their first gig the previous day. He hadn’t had a chance to tell him anything.
Ash let himself sink down onto a kitchen chair and sat there, not moving. He’d been so excited when he realised Ben was home and within five minutes it had gone rancid.
Ash used to look up to his eldest brother. He wanted to look up to his eldest brother, but it was getting difficult to look up to a guy like Ben anymore. Sitting there in that messy kitchen, all those negative thoughts Ash didn’t want to think came flooding into his brain.
Ben didn’t have a job. He’d lost most of his old friends and he owed money to the few friends who would still talk to him. Every dollar he earned he blew on poker machines or at the TAB.
Even though Ash was only sixteen, he knew enough about the way the world worked to know that Ben was kidding himself. Ben expected everything to come quick and easy, as if he could stick a coin in a poker machine and thousands of dollars would come pouring out into his hands without him having to do anything.
Ash realised he’d been sitting there in the kitchen for nearly twenty minutes as those thoughts whooshed through his mind. It was as if all the air had been sucked out of his lungs and all the good mood sucked out of his brain.
It was 6.30 in the evening, when people’s houses were usually noisy and busy with getting-dinner activity, phone calls, chatting, whatever. But not the Corrigan house. Their mum was asleep and through the door to Luke’s bedroom, Ash could hear the wet mouth-popping sound that his middle brother made when he slept on his back.
Ash wondered if he was doomed. Luke, Ben, their mum – he loved them, no question. He just didn’t want to turn out like any of them. But Ash had the same genes, he’d grown up in the same house – why should he think he had any chance of escape?
On a sudden impulse, Ash jumped up and headed for the door fast, as if he could escape being a Corrigan if he managed to get out of the house within the next ten seconds, before the genetic bomb went off inside him and he was doomed forever.
He cycled straight round to the Novaks’ place and before he could knock on the front door, Charlie opened it.
‘Mr Ash Corrigan, guitar legend,’ Charlie said. ‘I was just about to ring you.’
Charlie blathered nonstop about his latest design ideas for the band’s website while Ash followed him into the house. In the big back room, the twins were setting out the plates for dinner. As soon as Vic saw Ash arrive, he shuffled everything along the dining table to make room for an extra place.
There were almost always extra people around the Novaks’ dinner table. This night, apart from Ash, there were three extras: three African doctors who were in Sydney for a medical conference. They seemed to be good friends of Vic and Joanne.
Once everyone around the table was tucking into their plateful of food, Joanne turned to the visiting doctors and explained, ‘Charlie and his friend Ash are in a blues band together. Yesterday, their band played for an audience for the first time.’
‘Ah, congratulations,’ said one of the doctors.
‘Yes! It’s so fantastic,’ said Joanne. ‘We want to hear everything – a blow-by-blow account.’
So between the two of them, Ash and Charlie did their best to describe the first performance by Blue Noise, with Vic adding bits from his perspective in the audience. Reliving the experience felt good to Ash, like an echo of the fantastic feeling he’d had when he was onstage playing.
As soon as dinner was over, Vic hustled everyone into his little office to show them the photos he’d taken of the band. They all huddled around the computer screen.
‘I haven’t edited these down yet,’ Vic explained as he flicked through the shots. ‘But there are a few good ones in there.’
Ash could hardly believe how cool the band looked in the photos, even though they were all wearing their school uniforms and standing in front of the daggy stage curtains in the school hall. Vic had a knack for capturing exactly the right angle at the right moment.
‘Look at Lester in that one – ha!’ said Charlie.
There was Lester, with the drumsticks flying and his eyes wide open, his face glistening with sweat.
‘He’s a good drummer,’ said Vic.
‘I know,’ Charlie and Ash both said, almost simultaneously.
Then Ash heard Charlie utter a small moan of pain as he stared at a photograph of Lily leaning into the microphone, confident and smooth, glowing like a supermodel.
The next shot showed Charlie on stage, looking focused as he tipped his head towards Ash to call for a guitar solo. There was a great shot of Joel with his eyes closed in the middle of his
saxophone solo.
‘That was a blistering solo,’ said Charlie.
‘Definitely,’ agreed Ash.
‘I really like this shot,’ said Vic, pausing it on the screen. It was one of Erin glancing up from the keyboards to watch Charlie, with an intense, slightly worried look on her face.
‘Affirmative,’ said Charlie. ‘That’s a gem.’
Vic clicked to the next photograph, a shot of Ash hunched over the guitar, lost in the moment. Ash could practically hear the guitar riff as he stared at that photo of himself on the screen.
He shouldn’t have been surprised the photos were so good. Charlie’s dad was a professional; he used to make a living photographing bands. But it was still amazing to see a bunch of sixteen-year-olds in a school hall given the rock-star treatment.
‘Far out, Vic,’ said Ash. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re very welcome,’ he said. ‘Anyway, it was fun.’
Later, when the little Novaks had gone to bed, Charlie and Ash stayed at the computer, trawling through the photos again.
‘I reckon, with these pics, we’ve got the material we need to put our MySpace together,’ said Charlie.
‘But don’t we need music tracks to upload too?’ asked Ash.
‘Indeed we do,’ said Charlie, clicking on a folder of sound files. ‘So far, I’ve only finished mixing “Help Me”. Feast your ears on this.’
There it was – the Blue Noise version of the song that Ash had played but never listened to quite like this. He was always occupied playing his guitar so he never heard the whole thing, from the outside, the way an audience would hear it. It sounded good. Even done with their basic recording equipment, it actually sounded good. Like a real record.
‘Wow, that’s …’ muttered Ash.
‘Aha – yes, now you get it,’ said Charlie. ‘When I kept saying this was a good band, you thought I was talking crap. But now you hear how good Blue Noise sounds and you realise I was right. Admit it. Admit it,’ insisted Charlie.
‘Okay, I admit it. You’re right.’
Ash laughed and Charlie cackled like a power-crazed maniac.
‘Now, you can help me polish up the other songs,’ said Charlie.
He had already done a rough mix on two other numbers – ‘The Sky is Crying’ and ‘Don’t Ever Let Nobody Drag Your Spirit Down’. The tracks just needed some tweaking – a bit more bass here, the keyboards a little stronger there. For the next two hours, Ash and Charlie worked on them together, listening, arguing, experimenting until they got those two songs in the best shape they could.
They uploaded the tracks onto a newly created Blue Noise MySpace page, adding the best of the photos Vic had taken at the school concert. By the time they finished it was late, their brains aching and eyeballs fuzzy with tiredness. But it was worth it. Charlie sent a link to the new website to Erin, Joel, Lester and Lily. The band members should be the first ones to see Blue Noise online.
Once the MySpace site was up, Ash couldn’t resist checking it again and again to see if anyone was looking at it. By the end of the first week, there were ninety-three listens to ‘Help Me’. Not all of those ninety-three could be friends and family, so that meant other people had found the site and listened to the songs. It was sort of childish to keep checking the score, but Ash couldn’t help getting a massive kick out of it. It was so weird and thrilling to think that people out there – some of them total strangers on the other side of the world – could listen to their music.
People had started posting messages too. Mostly it was mates of theirs wishing them luck or leaving funny abusive posts. But there were also a few random ones.
‘Hey!!! Aussie blues dudes!!!’ said some guy from Chicago. ‘Heard your stuff!!! How did you little guys get so good way down there?!??!!’
When Charlie uploaded another album of Vic’s photos of the band, Ash flicked through them. He found himself focusing on Erin’s face, wondering what she was thinking in each shot. It was hard to figure out what was going on in her mind but it would probably be something interesting.
Just as Ash was thinking about Erin, he glanced down at the status bar and realised she was online. Spooky.
He messaged her. ‘Hi. Seen great new pics?’
Chapter Twelve
‘Hi back,’ Erin typed and sent it to Ash.
Did that sound silly? Like some annoying giggly girl? She quickly typed more, in case the ‘Hi back’ seemed a bit lame.
Erin: Yes, pics are great. How lucky are we that C’s dad is a brilliant photographer.
For a second after she sent it, Erin worried that might sound a bit sucky. But before she had the chance to agonise too much, Ash’s reply shot back.
Ash: Yeah. Just thinking same thing.
Erin: As C would say – SIZZLE.
Ash: I like that stuff Charlie says.
Erin: Affirmative. Trouble is, it’s contagious. I copy him now. Can’t help it.
Ash: Me too. People look at me weird.
Erin: People always look at me weird. I’m used to it.
Ash: No one thinks you’re weird. You’re paranoid.
Erin: Sad but true. I won the Miss Junior Paranoid Australia quest.
Ash: Congratulations. BTW, you look great in pics.
Erin’s heart lurched sideways in her chest and her hands were shaking so much that all she could type was one key.
Erin: ?
Ash: Really.
Erin: Must be that hot school uniform. Everyone looks amazingly hot in that.
Erin had chatted with Ash on MSN a few times since the band started. It was peculiar the way she found she could communicate with Ash online the way she never could in person. When they were at the Portuguese chicken place, Erin managed to talk semi-normally to Ash as long as Charlie, Lester and Joel were sitting there too. But if she and Ash were left at the table on their own, her brain seized up and she found herself lost for words. But over the net, Erin and Ash chatted for ages.
Ash: Check out message Chicago guy posted on page.
Erin: Already seen it. Over-excited, isn’t he??!!??!! Someone should glue up his ‘!’ key so he can give it a rest.
Ash: Yeah.
The other odd thing was that Erin felt she could be more honest with Ash over MSN than she could ever be with any person face to face.
Erin: Ohhhh – I sound nasty and snobby about Chicago guy. Don’t really mean it. It’s just me being a smart-arse trying to make you laugh.
Ash: You make me laugh a lot.
Erin: Hmmm … laughing at me or with me?
Ash: With.
Erin: Phew, what a relief. Anyway, over-excited Chicago guy can type as many!!! as he wants. I’m just glad he liked our stuff.
Ash: Right.
Erin: Wild that a person on the other side of the planet heard our music.
Ash: I know.
The more they talked on MSN, the more Erin let her guard down. And then, at some point in the chatting, she panicked. What if Ash Corrigan could tell she really liked him? And what if that idea made him want to vomit?
At least when you talked to a person face-to-face you could see their reactions. But over the net, Ash could be sitting there at his computer reading her messages, thinking, ‘Oh my god, Erin Landers is such a desperate case. She’s hot for me and she’s crazy enough to think I’m hot for her.’ He could be laughing or pulling a disgusted face. She would have no idea.
There was no way she could let Ash know she liked him as much as she did. If he didn’t like her back and laughed at her, it would be … well, it would be unbearable. It was better never to let on than be laughed at.
If she went on chatting to Ash like this, it would be impossible to hide her feelings. He would see inside her brain, see the tangled mess of neuroses and stupid stuff in there. She couldn’t risk that.
So mid-chat, she typed: ‘Got to go. Mother hassling. See you at band.’
She logged off snappily, before Ash could send back a response. No, she just couldn�
��t risk it. There couldn’t be any more relaxed msn chats with Ash.
Erin went to make herself a hot chocolate as a way to calm down a bit. She stood at the stove, watching the milk heating up in the saucepan.
Her mother and father were sitting at the kitchen table together, going through bills and paperwork. When Erin tuned into her parents’ conversation she realised they were talking about her.
‘So, the idea is she finishes Year 10 where she is and then applies to go to the Conservatorium for the last two years?’ asked Erin’s dad.
‘First we have to see what happens with the Grade 8 exams,’ said her mum.
Her parents were planning Erin’s life as if she wasn’t in the room. They’d talked about her going to the Conservatorium of Music for years, without Erin ever thinking much about whether that was what she wanted.
‘Erin,’ said her mother, ‘your teacher still hasn’t said anything about the date for the Grade 8 exam?’
‘Oh – uh …’ Erin stammered, staring at the milk in the saucepan as if it might suddenly provide all the answers.
If she left Mulvaney High to switch to the Conservatorium, she’d probably have to give up the blues band and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that idea. She didn’t know if she wanted to stay in the band in the long run anyway. Maybe she’d get sick of blues music after a while and want to go back to classical. Maybe she would love going to the Con. Maybe not. Maybe she wouldn’t even get in there anyway. She needed time to sort all this stuff out in her head.
Her parents kept prattling on, discussing Erin’s future. She wanted them to stop. She tried to form the right combination of words to explain herself.
‘Look, umm, can we just wait a while and see if – I mean, I’ve been thinking that maybe I should put off doing Grade 8 for a little while. It’s just …’ she began but then the words shrivelled up in her mouth.
‘Oh? Put off Grade 8? Is that what your teacher thinks you should do?’ asked her mum.