Songs About a Girl

by Chris Russell

  Melissa considered me silently, then turned to her laptop and started tapping away. I watched as she opened up some kind of graphics program and loaded an old file.

  “You came to the right place,” she said, intense concentration on her face. “I have so got this covered.”

  * * *

  Dad was in his study, elbow on the desk, head in his hand. He was muttering figures to himself.

  “Dad.”

  He didn’t hear me.

  “Dad.”

  He spun round on his chair. His face was twitchy, his eyes circled with gray.

  “Oh. Charlie. Sorry, I’m a bit…” He sighed. “Everything all right?”

  My eyes danced around the room. It was all in here, somewhere: Dad’s university papers, his letters to Mum. Remnants of a past life.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  I looked at my father, and a strange heat, something like shame, spread to my fingertips.

  “I shouldn’t have come in here last week without asking you first. I’m sorry.”

  Dad looked surprised. He removed his glasses.

  “Well … I suppose, but…” He rubbed his eyes, and sat back in his chair. “Not to worry.”

  I fingered the letter in my back pocket.

  “You’re sure there’s nothing bothering you?” he said, and a sadness rose up inside my chest. I swallowed it back down.

  “Yep, I just came in because…” I took out the letter and unfolded it. “I’m going on a writers’ weekend on Friday, with the school. I thought I should remind you.”

  He knitted his brow.

  “A writers’ weekend?”

  “To Devon, you know. For English.”

  I passed him the forgery, and he slid his glasses back on.

  “Devon?”

  “I told you about it months ago—the school does it every year. Look.”

  He scanned the letter, up and down. Melissa had done an amazing job.

  “Well, I suppose I do sometimes … forget…” He wiped a hand down his face. “And this is part of your coursework?”

  I nodded and passed him a pen from the pot.

  “I just need a signature.”

  I watched him scribble his name across the dotted line. The plan had worked, but I didn’t feel triumphant or relieved. I felt hollow and sick.

  “There you go,” said Dad, folding the letter and passing it back. “Have I paid for this yet?”

  “Yep, ages ago.”

  “Oh, right. Good.”

  For a while, we said nothing. The tree tapped feebly against the window.

  “That’ll be fun, then?” said Dad, rubbing the arm of his chair. “Weekend in Devon.”

  My grip tightened around the letter.

  “I guess.”

  “We had a great holiday in Devon once, when you were little. Ninety-nine, it must have been…”

  I nearly turned to leave, but something was stopping me. Dad rarely brought these things up on his own, and part of me wanted to stay longer, to ask him questions. Where had we stayed? Did we go to the beach? Were there pictures somewhere, photographs I’d never seen? But this new lie, the biggest I’d told yet, was burning bright under my skin, and I needed to get out of that room. I took a small backward step toward the door.

  “Not long until Christmas now,” said Dad suddenly, glancing at the calendar on his wall. “Is there anything you want?”

  I bit the side of my tongue. Something Dad had said to me the week before, sitting on the edge of my bed, was running through my mind. I know it’s just you and me here, kiddo, but we’re still a family.

  “I don’t know … I’ll have a think.”

  “Good. Good.” Dad blinked at me. “What’s for dinner?”

  “Baked potatoes,” I said, clicking open the door. I slipped from the room, and the sight that greeted me in the hallway left a twist of guilt in my stomach.

  It was my coat, hanging next to his, on the rack.

  * * *

  The inside of the Fire&Lights tour bus was, far and away, the coolest thing I had ever seen.

  It was pretty much a hotel on wheels, a double-decker behemoth complete with pool and foosball tables, arcade machines, a jukebox, and plasma TVs. There were bunks for all four band members, fridges stuffed full of food and drink, and, scattered across the ceiling in a majestic wave, a miniature universe of glow-in-the-dark stars.

  Whenever the bus drove through towns, people would run out of shops and houses to wave and yell as we passed. Some girls even seemed to know the route in advance, camping out in little groups with banners and picnics. Now and again, the boys would open the windows and wave back, causing total pandemonium.

  “So what d’you think of our bus?”

  Aiden and I were sitting together on one of the curved leather sofas. I was drinking a Dr Pepper, fresh from the fridge.

  “How do I put this?” I drew a line down the condensation on the can with my thumb. “It’s basically the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen with my own eyes.”

  Aiden laughed.

  “The first time I saw this thing, I thought I was dreaming.” He leaned back and gazed at the star-spotted ceiling. “Mind you, half the things that happen to me, I’m, like … this has to be a dream.”

  I had thought the same thing, more than once, though not always in a good way. When you get messages from strangers on the Internet telling you to kill yourself, part of you wishes you could just wake up.

  “Like, last week, y’know, we had this mad-busy day, and right in the middle we had to go and record a live session for MTV…”

  I found myself smiling. It was nice, hearing Aiden talk. He was normally so quiet.

  “… and this big group of lasses were waiting for us out front, and I don’t think security saw it coming, because they broke through our bodyguards and they were snatching at us, and screaming, and it was actually pretty scary. And I’m there, thinking: how did this happen? Like, I used to be just some kid, a nobody, and now…”

  He trailed off, staring at the floor.

  “I can’t imagine,” I said, even though, in a very small way, I could. I used to be a nobody, but now—

  “Do you mind if I tell you something?”

  Aiden was looking at me thoughtfully, from beneath his shaggy blond fringe. I flicked at the ring pull on my Dr Pepper.

  “Um … no, of course.”

  He looked guilty, suddenly, like a child.

  “I didn’t really want any of this.”

  I sat back, surprised.

  “What?”

  He opened his mouth, then scratched his head, flustered.

  “I mean … that came out wrong. I did, obviously. It’s been my dream since I was five. Playing music, being in a band—I love it. But everyone knowing who I am, that takes some getting used to, y’know?”

  He glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to me.

  “Some days, I don’t know … I wonder what … what it would be like to be invisible again.” He sniffed. “Does that sound crazy?”

  I couldn’t help smiling again. It was comforting to hear someone else say it.

  “No, it doesn’t,” I said. “Not one bit.”

  Aiden nodded happily, as if that was exactly what he wanted to hear.

  “So how are you finding it?” he asked, after a pause.

  “Finding … what?”

  “Being with the band.”

  “Oh. Well, it’s … exciting,” I said, wondering how truthful I should be, “and scary. And totally not real.”

  “You’re doing a great job, though. With the photos.”

  “Really? I think the fancy camera helps.”

  Aiden shook his head.

  “Having the gear’s one thing, but there’s more to it than that.” He brushed the hair from his eyes. “You have to understand people. You have to … get them.”

  I looked around the room.

  “It helps when you like the people you’re shooting.”

  �
��Yeah, that helps,” agreed Aiden, with a smile. He glanced over at Olly, who was sitting on a nearby stool reading a magazine. “Sorry if we get a bit much sometimes, though. It’s not really normal, spending so much time with the same people.”

  “You guys get on pretty well, don’t you?”

  “We do, yeah.” He gnawed at his thumbnail. “Most of the time.”

  Aiden’s nail clicked as he bit it off. Keeping an eye on his bandmates, he lowered his voice.

  “I mean, Yuki’s cool and everything, but Olly and Gabe … I dunno. They’re always competing over something, and sometimes I worry about—”

  “Worry about what?”

  Gabriel was standing above us, pulling a thick, red licorice lace from a dispenser on the wall. He clipped it off, and Aiden stammered a reply.

  “J-just that … um…”

  “Come on, Aid, you can say it.” Gabriel waggled the licorice lace at him. “You’re worried about whether you can hold hands on the first date, right?”

  He pinched Aiden’s cheek.

  “Everything will be fine, as long as you treat her with respect.” He took a big bite of the licorice. “And buy her a strawberry milkshake.”

  Aiden jabbed him in the stomach, and Gabriel slumped down on to the sofa next to him. The leather moaned beneath his weight.

  “I’m gonna go say hi to the driver,” said Aiden, standing up. “I’ll catch you guys later.”

  “Later,” said Gabriel, as Aiden passed through the curtain that led to the front of the bus. It flapped lazily behind him.

  “Say hi to the driver?” I repeated, puzzled. Gabriel chewed on his licorice.

  “He does it all the time, the softie. He’s worried the driver gets lonely up there on his own.”

  I took a sip of my drink and smiled at the thought of Aiden, perched on the front seat of the bus, chatting with the driver about roadworks and the price of petrol.

  “I could get used to this touring business, y’know,” I said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Let’s just say your bus is slightly nicer than the one we use for school trips.”

  Gabriel leaned back into the leather.

  “I asked for a hot tub, but Barry vetoed it…”

  The bus slowed down as we joined a roundabout, and I peered through the tinted windows at the approaching road signs—“Bristol 49 miles.”

  We still had an hour or so left on the road.

  The Killers were playing on the jukebox, and arcade machines twinkled and blipped in the corner. Farther down the bus, through the curtains, I could hear the roadies sharing a joke, chatting in beefy voices.

  Olly turned a page in his magazine.

  “Did you and Olly really have a fight last weekend?” I asked Gabriel, in a hushed voice. He turned to face me and trained his amber eyes on mine, and I felt like I’d burst into flames.

  “What do you think, Charlie Brown?”

  A drop of moisture trickled off my Dr Pepper and onto my jeans.

  “I don’t know. I just saw it on a blog.”

  “I thought you didn’t read that stuff?” he teased, throwing the last chunk of licorice into his mouth.

  “I don’t, but … people were talking about it at school.”

  Gabriel thought about this for a few seconds, then reached into the fridge and pulled out a Coke.

  “I mean, for a start,” he said, popping the can, “if I really did start a fight with Olly, don’t you think I would win?”

  He said the last three words loud enough for everyone to hear, even above the jukebox, and Olly turned round from his perch on a nearby stool. Yuki was tapping at a handheld computer and, after looking up momentarily, returned to his game with a shake of his head. Aiden poked his head through the curtain.

  “Hey, guys, Bob says we’re stopping in twenty mi—”

  “What was that, Gabe?” asked Olly, lowering his magazine. Gabriel pretended to read the back of his Coke, his feet crossed on the coffee table.

  “I was just telling Charlie that I’d beat you in a fight.”

  Olly’s face folded in confusion.

  “What? Why are you even talking about that?”

  Gabriel’s mouth fell open for a moment, and he locked eyes with Olly. Then he waved him away.

  “Nah, never mind.”

  An uncomfortable silence spread through the bus. Olly almost went back to his magazine, but as he reached for it, his face tightened, and he turned back to Gabriel.

  “If you’re talking about the other night, then—”

  “I was just saying,” interrupted Gabriel, raising his eyebrows at me, “I’m stronger than you are, and I’d win in a fight. That’s all.”

  Olly shook his head and flicked over a page in his magazine.

  “This is pathetic, Gabe.”

  Gabriel raised a single palm.

  “Look, if it bothers you that much, we could … I don’t know … arm wrestle for it?”

  Olly looked up and scoffed. He was the musclier of the two by far, and while Gabriel was lean and fit, his arms were small and skinny by comparison.

  “You’re serious?” said Olly, pushing his magazine away.

  “Sure,” replied Gabriel, with a shrug. “Three hundred to the winner?”

  I almost choked on my drink. Three hundred pounds?

  “You guys are tools,” commented Yuki, still glued to his game. His bandmates ignored him.

  “Fine,” agreed Olly, sliding off his stool and moving to a nearby counter. “You’re on.”

  As I watched Olly rolling up his sleeves, I wondered whether I should stop them, but within seconds Gabriel had crossed over to join him.

  “Guys … don’t,” I pleaded weakly.

  “Yeah, come on, lads,” said Aiden, pushing through the curtain. “This is stupid.”

  Olly and Gabriel weren’t listening. They were facing off across the table, Gabriel smiling, Olly looking steely and determined. Behind them, the never-ending gray motorway raced by at high speed.

  They locked into each other, and Gabriel’s forearm looked slight, almost delicate, against Olly’s.

  “You sure you want to do this?” said Olly.

  “Don’t worry about me, Samson.” Their eyes met, and a knot formed in my stomach. “Do the honors?”

  Olly sucked in a breath.

  “Three … two … one … go.”

  At first, nothing happened. Their arms were tensed, but there was very little movement in either direction. I’d assumed Gabriel didn’t stand a chance, but he looked calm, amused even, while Olly seemed to be straining, faint pearls of sweat forming at his hairline.

  Time ticked by, and neither arm budged.

  “OK,” said Gabriel, eventually, with a glance out the window. “I’m done with this.”

  In an instant, he slammed Olly’s arm down onto the tabletop and their hands snapped apart. Gabriel stepped backward and, across the counter, Olly stared in disbelief at his now-empty fingers. They were striped red from Gabriel’s grip.

  “Olly, are you OK?” I said uselessly, but he wouldn’t return my eye contact. He just rose back up again, rubbing his wrist, eyes wide and fixed on Gabriel. He was out of breath, his cheeks flushed.

  “Happy now?” he said his voice a little ragged. Gabriel was leaning against the jukebox, unruffled, the lights from the machine flashing all around him.

  “Doesn’t make any difference to me, mate.”

  “Nothing does, does it?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Olly exhaled, slowly, as if trying to calm himself down. “Just forget it.”

  Gabriel tapped his tongue against his teeth.

  “If you’ve got something to say, Olly, just say it.”

  “Leave it. Seriously.”

  Gabriel narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice.

  “This is about Jake, isn’t it?”

  Olly took several deep breaths, staring at the floor. Then he clapped his hands together.

  �
�Yeah. D’you know what…? Yes. It is about Jake. It’s about you pushing him out of the band.”

  Gabriel’s eyebrows jumped upward.

  “Me? Wh—? Get over yourself, Samson. It was Barry who chucked Jake out of the band, not me.”

  Olly leaned both hands on the counter.

  “And you just happened to be there to fill his shoes, right?”

  “Oh, you have got to be kidding me—”

  “We had something before you came along, Gabe—it was coming together. It would have worked out.”

  “And we don’t have something now?” said Gabriel, gesturing at our surroundings. “Luxury tour bus not enough for you, is that it? Huh? Besides, I earned my place in this band. You’re singing my songs, for a start.” He looked around the space, at each of us, then back at Olly. “How many hits have you written this year?”

  Olly’s top lip curled into a sneer.

  “You really think you’re better than the rest of us, don’t you?” he spat across the bus.

  Gabriel raised both hands and shook his head. “Your words, Olly. Not mine.”

  Olly sprang toward him and grabbed him by the collar, causing the jukebox to rock on its base and sending nearby cutlery and bowls scattering to the floor. Aiden leaped in between them, pulling them apart, and Olly relented, his chest swiftly rising and falling, his T-shirt tangled. He stumbled back against the toilet door.

  Gabriel still hadn’t broken a sweat.

  “There’s your money,” said Olly, slipping his wallet from his back pocket and pulling out a wad of cash. He tossed the notes at Gabriel, and they fluttered and flapped to the floor. I watched them in amazement.

  “Keep it, bro,” said Gabriel, stepping over the money on his way back to the sofa. As the final few twenties came to rest on the ground, Olly ran a hand down his face, took one final look at Gabriel, and vanished through the curtains.

  Silence fell. Aiden sat on his bunk and plucked some awkward chords; Gabriel passed a hand through his tousled hair. Yuki cursed at his computer game.

  How long, I wondered, could a group of people spend every waking minute together, with tensions riding high, before it all came crashing down around them?

  Something, eventually, would have to give.

  22

  We arrived at the hotel late, around two thirty in the morning. It had been an exhausting day for the band: hours of traveling, a lengthy television interview, and a two-hour concert in Bristol. For the final hour of the journey, everyone on the tour bus, driver aside, had been fast asleep.