This Beats Perfect

by Rebecca Denton

  ‘Oooh, great.’ Maisie turned to Amelie. ‘This is PERFECT. And you’re off to Paris the next morning, right?’

  ‘Um, yeah.’ Amelie started to get mad at her friend. ‘Dad won’t really like me going to a bar without him. I need to pack. I should also go to Tesco’s.’

  ‘Any other excuses?’ Maxx joked. ‘Let me speak to your dad.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that, you’re seventeen now, you’re practically legal. Nothing wrong with sneaking in, love,’ Julian advised, somewhat less practically.

  ‘Okay, details, details.’ As Maisie and Julian began the planning, Amelie watched as her dad parked across the road from the studio.

  ‘Okay, it’s REALLY time to go, Maisie! Dad’s here,’ she said, nodding towards him as he unloaded some boxes and a guitar case from the boot.

  ‘Work time!’ Julian agreed, and then added without thinking, ‘Let’s go record you a record, Maxx. Bye, girls.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Maisie, see you Thursday,’ Maxx said, turning as they crossed the road, leaving Maisie gawping at Amelie.

  ‘What just happened? Hang on? Who is he?’

  ‘You really don’t know?’

  ‘No, Amelie. I’m not as cool as you,’ she teased. ‘Is that who’s recording?’

  ‘Yes.’ Amelie grinned. ‘It’s Maxx, from The Keep.’

  Maisie clasped her hands across her face. ‘OMG, you what?’

  ‘It’s true,’ Amelie laughed.

  ‘OMG. You would NEVER recognise him; he looks so different. So normal! And the hair! Jesus. He must have been using more hair product than I do, he looks totally different without all the …’ She waved her hands about.

  ‘All the boybandy stuff,’ Amelie finished. ‘I know, right?’ She watched Maxx and Julian as they greeted her dad at the car, Maxx graciously offering to help with the heavy lifting as the three of them made their way inside.

  ‘But, you see,’ she turned back to Maisie, and gravely said, ‘we really shouldn’t go out with them, what if he DOES get recognised? Remember …’

  ‘Honestly, I don’t think he will. And I’m sure if you ask him he won’t get you in any kind of online storm again. And anyway, WHO CARES!!!!’ Maisie grinned. ‘Oh, Amelie, come on. You need to loosen up. This is FUN. It’s what being a teenager is about. You’ve had your nose in your music all year, practising, playing, more practising. I mean we NEVER do anything like this together. PLEEEEEEASE.’

  Maisie clasped her hands in a prayer and held the high-pitched ‘please’ for as long as she could. When she ran out of breath, she sucked in as much air as she could and started again, in a slightly higher pitch. ‘PLEEEEEEEEEEASE …’

  Amelie put her face in her hands. ‘Fine,’ she said, sighing dramatically with her fingers in her ears. ‘Fine, fine, fine. Let’s go. SHUT UP! AND DON’T TELL ANYONE HE’S HERE!’

  They hugged goodbye and Maisie took off down the street, stopping to do some lunges and a squat at a bike rail. Amelie shook her head at her crazy friend, and took a moment to compose herself before she headed inside. It was time to share what she’d been up to in the studio at night, and she was dreading the reaction.

  She whipped the rain out of her hair, marched forward, and, summoning all her confidence, walked in to tell her dad and Maxx what she’d done.

  But it was too late for a big reveal.

  Her dad, sat at the desk with his computer open on her recording session, was shaking his head – he looked angry, confused and disappointed. It was the naughty daughter trifecta. He looked up at her, and she began to squirm.

  ‘I know what you’re going to say, Dad, but in a way Maxx did ask me to do it.’ She looked over at Maxx with pleading eyes.

  ‘I did,’ Maxx said quickly, looking at her, puzzled.

  ‘You did?’ her dad said disbelievingly. Amelie chewed her fingernails, nodding at Maxx desperately.

  After a moment’s silence, Maxx broke the stand-off. ‘Um, what did I ask you to do?’

  Mike leaned back in his seat, his voice steady but stern. ‘Amelie, it seems, has been staying back at night and has decided it was appropriate to do some recording on your track. I’m speechless, Amelie.’

  Amelie bit her bottom lip. ‘Look, you can just delete it, I made a duplicate session so I didn’t wreck anything.’

  ‘It’s just so highly unprofessional. Maxx, I’m just, well … shocked, and very sorry indeed.’

  ‘You recorded the female vocal?’ Maxx said excitedly, tossing his bag on the couch. He took a seat next to her dad. ‘Awesome. Let’s hear it then! I did ask her! I didn’t know that was what you’d been sneaking off at night to do!’ Maxx nodded to her dad, who was still shaking his head at Amelie.

  ‘It’s not just the vocal she recorded,’ he said quietly, looking at the screen.

  ‘Can you just play it and then tell me off later?’ Amelie asked. ‘I think it’s okay. I mean, quite good in places.’

  ‘The suspense is killing me!’ Maxx laughed. ‘Let’s hear it. Honestly, don’t worry, Mike.’

  His finger lingered over the keyboard as he sat back, sighing loudly at the ceiling. Amelie curled up as tight as she could on the couch, covering her eyes with her hands.

  ‘Have a little faith, Dad,’ Amelie pleaded through her fingers as he hit play.

  The record started, but instead of Maxx’s guitar, there was a piano introduction. The timing was changed and the vocal came in on the offbeat, which gave the track a more laid-back cool than the earnest arrangement they’d been working on the day before. And then Amelie’s voice came in.

  Maxx was totally engrossed, and Amelie felt a faint glimmer of hope that he might like what she’d done.

  She watched closely to see if there was a reaction to the tweaked lyrics, or the new bridge, or the slight rearrangement of the chord structure in the chorus.

  The track played through, and when it finished he didn’t smile, he just said very steadily, ‘Can you play it again?’

  Three more minutes of torture as the track played through a second time. Amelie cringed as her voice came in again. This time around she could hear every waver, ever imprecise beat, every questionable decision. Maxx whispered a couple of times to her father, who shook his head. Amelie, unable to hear their exchange, began to quiver. Had she made a terrible mistake?

  But, as the track finished, to her immense relief Maxx swung around with a broad smile and clap of his hands.

  ‘I love it,’ he said simply. ‘I was just asking if your dad knew you were such a good pianist?’

  Her dad looked only slightly relieved, the anger behind the eyes still evident.

  ‘You like it? Really?’ Amelie said meekly.

  ‘It’s cool. Really. So great, so many clever ideas in there.’

  ‘Oh, thank god!’ Amelie was so relieved and delighted she wanted to run across the room and wrap her arms around Maxx.

  ‘And you can sing! What a voice! Bluesy, husky – it’s very warm and unique. Who knew?’ He was totally gushing. ‘Play it again, Mike, let’s go through it and decide what to keep.’

  ‘What to keep?’ Amelie piped up, finally feeling confident enough to join the two at the desk.

  Maxx laughed. ‘It’s not perfect. But it will be.’ He banged the desk in delight.

  As her dad hit play on the track again, Amelie caught his glance that said ‘we will be talking about this later, young lady’.

  But as the morning wore on, it was clear that Maxx had come alive. He was animated and excited and speaking a hundred miles an hour.

  ‘Isolate that part,’ he said to Mike. ‘Yeah, drop that. I’ll do a new bass line there, the old one doesn’t work.’ Mike worked fast to keep up. ‘Lose the snare. Okay, mark that down – it needs a harmony.’

  ‘Amelie,’ Maxx turned to her, ‘what do you think about this part – the middle eight? I want to lose the snare and pare it right back – thoughts?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, that could work. But …’ Amelie looked nervously at her f
ather and then back to Maxx.

  ‘Go on.’ Maxx wasn’t going to let her shy away.

  ‘Well, story-wise, I think it needs building rather than paring back, but softly. I’m not sure how – maybe bring the acoustic guitar back? Or a second one? Or—’

  ‘No, I’ve got it,’ her dad interrupted. ‘We need strings.’

  Maxx and Amelie both nodded. There was an incredible sense of teamwork emerging and everyone felt the excitement.

  As the day slipped into evening, the track was worked and reworked until, at 9.30, the team cracked open a beer and sat back to listen to the finished track.

  Maxx sat down next to Amelie and put a hand gently on her shoulder. ‘I could kiss you!’ he said, delighted.

  Her dad smiled, shaking his head at Amelie. ‘That was a good day.’ He nodded, before adding, ‘Don’t ever do that again. At least, without asking me first.’

  It was nearly midnight when Maxx got back to the Town Hall Hotel in Bethnal Green, and he stopped by the bar for a whiskey on the way to his room. He wouldn’t normally, but he was buzzing and needed something to steady himself before he crawled into bed and tried to sleep – he was too excited from the day’s events.

  If he was astounded by the talent of Mike, he was totally floored by what his daughter had achieved. She was a real talent, and had transformed the track. And, he had to admit, a rare and intriguing beauty. But, as tipsy thoughts of kissing her sulky lips came into his head, he dismissed them. He was sure she had a crush on Charlie, and if she knew about the stage collapse – which was not publicised – she was definitely in touch with him. It was difficult to swallow, but facts were facts.

  After switching on the TV set in his room and trying to make sense of the different British channels, he decided to try to call home. Unfortunately, or fortunately considering his slightly inebriated state, his parents weren’t home. He checked his watch – then, tossing back the last of his whiskey, and wanting a friend to talk to, he decided against his better judgment to FaceTime Dee.

  He was surprised when she finally picked up.

  ‘Hey!’ he said, delighted, high from the whiskey and the excitement of his day.

  ‘Hey, babe. Is there something wrong?’ She fumbled with the phone, turned a light on and squinted. She ran her fingers through her hair and rubbed her eyes. He’d just woken her up. Maxx could see the lace of her nightie and what looked like a half drunk glass of champagne sitting on the bedside table.

  ‘What’s going on? How’s Paris?’

  ‘Good. Maxx, is something wrong? It’s after one a.m.,’ she yawned.

  Maxx had forgotten the time difference.

  ‘Oh no, I just wanted to tell you how awesome the recording was, but I forgot how busy you’ve been.’ He tried to sound cool and hide his irritation, but Dee had clearly not been ‘busy’, rather she’d been having a nice time in Paris.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ She sounded relieved, her eyes darting to the side of the room – was she looking at someone? ‘That’s great. I have been busy, though.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, the single is great, did you listen to it?’ Maxx began, then, realising she had only been sent the first, inferior, version without Amelie’s input, added, ‘Oh, you haven’t heard the new version. You’d never believe who reworked it, transformed it really. We’ve got a guide track now. And a new title. It’s called “The Ballad of Beginnings”. Let me play it for you!’

  ‘I didn’t get a chance to hear the other version; it’s on my Mac though. But are you saying don’t listen to it now?’ She sounded disengaged.

  At that moment there was the sound of a door opening in Dee’s room – and she waved up at someone off-screen.

  ‘Someone there with you?’

  ‘Um, yeah.’

  ‘Okay. Well now probably isn’t the time to play the track, anyway,’ Maxx snapped, trying to be nonchalant but feeling like a total dick.

  ‘Maxx, let’s catch up later. Get yourself to bed. You’re a bit drunk,’ Dee said gently.

  ‘Well, I’ll see you Friday. Are you still coming?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll see you Friday. I’m flying back home from Heathrow, so I’ve got the whole day there. I’ll lay down the vocal.’

  ‘Cool. Well, see ya,’ Maxx said. ‘Have fun,’ he added dismally.

  He closed his computer and pushed it off his bed, and it crashed onto the floor.

  Making his way into the bathroom, he tore the plastic wrapping off the hotel’s complimentary mini toothbrush and toothpaste, and brushed his teeth clean of the taste of whiskey and pizza. He pulled his jeans and stinking T-shirt off and tossed them on the floor, before forcing himself into a nice hot shower to help him sleep. He washed his hair with his single serving of shampoo and conditioner, and rubbed the pleasant, unisex-scented hand cream into his overworked, dry cracked fingers and hands.

  At just before one a.m. he pulled back the duvet, suddenly hating that freshly laundered smell of his 600-count Indian-cotton sheets – and as he closed his exhausted eyes he longed to feel like something in his life was lived in. He was lonely, but happy here in London. He missed Dee but was glad she was gone. He was scared of this new life he was trying to forge, but he wasn’t looking back.

  For a moment he lay there in bed listening to the quickening beat of his heart, then he threw back the covers and picked up his guitar. He had to get it out, the only way he knew how.

  CHAPTER 23

  Summer Friends

  Amelie left the studio to pack her things for Paris. She grabbed the old green suitcase from under her bed (a 1960s one with a lockable clip that didn’t lock, which her mother had found for ‘next to nothing!’ at a junk shop). She pulled out an assortment of jeans, T-shirts and jumpers from her wardrobe, and two pairs of trainers, her PJs (which really needed a wash), her hairbrush and some underwear and lay them all out on the bed.

  Maisie would be there in twenty minutes and she wanted to be completely ready for her eight a.m. train the next morning so that she didn’t have to stress about anything while they were out. She packed all her toiletries and then went through into the kitchen to clean out the virtually empty fridge and take out the rubbish. She had been alone at the house for nearly a week now, but since she’d spent practically the whole time at the studio, the house had been well and truly neglected. She guiltily decided to clean the kitchen a little, and then the floor, and just quickly dust the window sills, rearrange the LPs, and by the time Maisie arrived she was clothed in an apron and marigolds and not at all ready to go out.

  ‘SHIT!’ Amelie said, peeling her gloves off and rushing to the door. Maisie stood there looking like she’d stepped off the pages of teen Tatler, her long caramel hair was pulled back in a casual chignon, and she wore a three-quarter length bra top in bright florals with a pair of high-waisted jeans and black heels. She held out a pinky-orange juice in a reusable glass eco-thermos.

  ‘Pretox Juice? Don’t worry, the container is BPA free,’ Maisie offered.

  ‘Is that an STD?’ said Amelie, shaking her head.

  ‘Oh, Amelie! You’re not even showered. Get in there, now!’ Maisie ordered. ‘We have to leave in five minutes! UBER EN ROUTE! I’ll pick your outfit.’ She clapped her hands together with delight and immediately entered full makeover mode.

  ‘Where do you keep your going-out clothes?’

  Amelie pointed to the only wardrobe in her room, laughing. ‘Like most normal people I keep everything in one wardrobe.’

  ‘Why are you still here? Shower!’ Maisie replied.

  Amelie gave Maisie a comical salute and slammed the bathroom door, she brushed her teeth in the shower and quickly washed her hair for only the second time that week. She was just about to condition when she heard Maisie banging on the door. ‘Two minutes, Amelie, get a move on!’

  ‘No time to dry it, sorry!’ Maisie said, holding out an outfit as Amelie emerged with her hair wrapped in a towel.

  ‘Can I at least put some knickers on?’ Amelie laughed, pulling
a face at the outfit Maisie had chosen – a black halter neck dress with sandals and a red cardigan. She tugged a pair of jeans out of her closet drawer.

  ‘But you can’t wear your usual uniform,’ sulked Maisie. ‘We’ve got a doorman to convince you’re over eighteen, remember? Can I at least do your hair?’

  Amelie nodded. She secretly loved it when Maisie did her hair and make-up, but she drew the line at stupid dresses.

  Maisie attacked her hair with a comb, and, parting it neatly in the middle, she swept Amelie’s fringe across her face and wound it into some waves with her fingers. ‘It will dry perfect. Don’t touch it. We’ll do the make-up in the taxi,’ Maisie insisted, checking her phone. ‘Please not that top.’

  ‘I feel comfortable like this,’ Amelie said, pulling on a plain T-shirt. ‘I’ll wear some jewellery!’ she said by way of compromise, and liberated her birthday diamond earrings from their box. She clipped them in and held out her hands. ‘Well?’

  ‘Well, they suit you,’ Maisie said with her hands on her hips, bemused. ‘You look a little more like a girl. Actually, you look lovely.’

  ‘Why, thank you.’ Amelie did an awkward, exaggerated curtsy. ‘Do you think Maxx likes jewellery? On girls I mean. He wears his parents’ key around his neck, you know.’

  ‘That’s sweet,’ Maisie said, raising her eyebrows. She firmly and clearly added, ‘He must like jewellery, his girlfriend Dee wears quite a lot, doesn’t she?’

  Amelie frowned. ‘Hmm, yes. Dee’s arriving tomorrow.’

  Maisie gave Amelie a sympathetic smile. ‘You’ve so got a crush.’

  ‘I do not!’ Amelie giggled, feeling embarrassed.

  ‘Are you sure sure sure they’re still together? Wasn’t there a fight or something? All seems a little bit iffy?’

  ‘I think so, well, I mean, they’re doing this track together tomorrow.’ Amelie felt glum about it, but had decided to just suck it up and enjoy herself tonight.

  There was no mistaking the chemistry that had developed between her and Maxx. From a low simmer to a fierce boil, every time their hands touched, or they found themselves alone in the studio without her dad or Julian, the air was thick with tension. She couldn’t be alone in feeling it.